Harry Potter Story Fluffle
by Philosophize
Summary: Fluffle: A pack of bunnies; or, in this case, a collection of 1st chapters of stories which may or may not get written. Most are x-overs. Some are FemHarry. Most are femslash. All are interesting, but many have problems preventing me from creating strong plots. None are up for adoption, but if you have ideas to help so a full story can be written, I'd love to hear from you.
1. Where's My Mummy? (HP-Mummy Xover)

**Where's My Mummy?**

 **Summary:** Harry and Hermione are working for the goblins as compensation for having robbed Gringotts during the war. A ritual designed to restore ancient artifacts goes wrong, sending the two back in time to where Rick and Evie are fighting their own immortal monster. Will Harry and Hermione help, or will they stand back to preserve the timeline?

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Mummy Movies

 **Pairing:** Harry/Hermione; Rick/Evie

 **A/N:** This is one of my few male Harry stories. I would have considered making it FemHarry as well, but I wanted to have symmetry between the Harry/Hermione and Rick/Evelyn relationships, especially since there are a number of similarities between Harry/Rick and Hermione/Evelyn. Also, I doubted that Rick and Evelyn would have been accepting of a lesbian couple, which would introduce unnecessary complications to a story which is intended to be more about fun and adventure than angst and drama (in other words, a typical Stephen Summers story!).

I have a bit of an outline for what I think would be a decent story, but there are details I'd need to hammer out first. There'd be more than one trip through time in the story I have in mind, and I need to make sure that those trips don't create plot holes big enough to drive a summer blockbuster through. If I can, and I assume I'll be able to, then this will probably make the transition to a full story eventually.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own _The Mummy,_ Universal does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Lost in Time**

 **Cairo, Egypt. 2006.**

Harry Potter grimaced as he stood up straight, and his back cracked loudly enough to echo across the mostly-empty room.

"That's really disgusting, you know," Hermione groused, not bothering to look up from where she was checking his work on the floor.

"Yeah, well, my back starts to ache if I'm bent over too long," Harry complained. He lifted the brim of his fedora and wiped the sweat from his brow before casting another cooling charm on himself, once again grumbling about having to do this work inside at night. If they'd been outside, the cool Egyptian night air would have been much more comfortable.

"Then maybe you shouldn't take so long," Hermione retorted.

Harry sighed as he squatted back down and returned to the task of drawing runes on the floor of the Cairo Museum of Antiquities. He knew she wasn't trying to be mean, but it still irked him that she was so much faster at this task than he was. Since he hadn't taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, he'd had to brute-force learn them in the field. Now, five years into their ten-year sentence of service to the goblins, he was good enough to draw them from memory, but not so good that he didn't need to have his work checked by an expert, which was just one of many reasons why he and Hermione continued to be partnered together.

Another reason, which was far more important to him if not to the goblins, was that after six years of school, one year on the run, a final year of school, two years of training, and now five years of work in Egypt, he didn't think he knew how to live without her anymore. Hermione Granger had become the one good thing in his life that could always be relied on. He had once told Ron that he only thought of Hermione as a sister, but at some point it had occurred to him that he'd never had siblings, so he hadn't actually known what he was talking about.

Even now, years later, he still didn't quite understand what his feelings for Hermione were — all he knew was that he didn't want to be parted from her.

"Do you think we'll get this done tonight?" she asked after a few minutes of quiet work.

"I think so," Harry answered. "If this ritual you modified works as well as you think, we'll have the statue as good as new in plenty of time to make delivery." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stand from where she was checking his work and gaze up at the massive, ancient statue of Wadjet-Bast. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"It still seems wrong," she said. "Ancient artifacts like this are supposed to look... _ancient_. It's part of their history, which is a big reason why they have value. They're not supposed to look 'brand new' — anyone who wants a brand new statue can just make one."

"I know," Harry agreed as he finished the last rune. "But for some reason, it's what the goblins want. They promised to knock two and a half years off our sentence for breaking into Gringotts and stealing the dragon if we can pull this off."

"The fact that it's a completely unique statue only makes it worse," Hermione continued as if he hadn't said anything. "Every other statue of Wadjet-Bast has the body of a woman, the head of a lion, and then a small cobra above the head in front of a solar disk. This is the only instance of a statue of her with the head of a lion, the torso of a woman, and the bottom of a snake. It's the only known combination anywhere in the world of feline, human, and serpent. I can't even figure out why the goblins would care, much less make it such a high priority!"

He stood and walked up behind her, grasping her shoulders in his hands. "Hey, it's not like we're destroying it or anything. I'd support you if you refused to do that. All this ritual does is reverse time on the object in the center of the ritual circle. And I'm sure the goblins have their reasons for wanting this restored rather than making a new one. Who knows, maybe this is actually one of their gods or something."

Hermione slumped slightly and leaned back against her best friend. "I know, you're right," she said. "It doesn't make me feel much better about it, though." Harry gave her a little squeeze before stepping away so she could return to her task.

After a few more minutes, she asked, "Have you told Ron about this?"

"Uh, not exactly," Harry said evasively. Ron had not taken to the work in Egypt nearly as well as Harry and Hermione had, so he'd been left under his brother Bill's supervision when his two friends were sent off to work independently. Once he had gotten good enough, though, he'd decided that he liked working with family and chose to stay with his brother's team, leaving Harry and Hermione to continue on their own.

Hermione gave him a pointed look and said, "What do you mean, 'not exactly'? Did you tell him or didn't you?"

"I did tell him we would be in Cairo for a bit, in case he had a chance to meet up," Harry said hastily. "But, uh, I might have forgotten to mention that we were working on a project that would let us out of our contracts sooner."

"Harry! You can't just not tell him something like that!"

"I know! I know! It's just that, well, I thought something like that would be best told in person. Not in a letter. So I was hoping that he would come see us so we could tell him. Together."

"So that **I** could tell him, you mean," Hermione said with a huff. Harry refused to meet her eyes, which was all the response she needed. "I'll agree that telling him in person is better, but you're not leaving it all on me." Harry readily agreed, remembering the last time Hermione had been the one to give Ron bad news. It had been two years ago, and they'd met up after nearly a year of separation because of Ron staying with his brother. Due to the constant time apart, Hermione had decided to break up with Ron, and the ensuing argument had been legendary, even for them.

Harry never wanted to experience a repeat of that.

It took another hour for Hermione to check and double-check all his work, but finally she was satisfied, and they still had enough time for a practice run-through before they performed the full ritual the following night. Harry pulled off his brown fedora and cast a strong cooling charm on it before returning it to his head, ignoring Hermione's eye roll. She hated his hat and for a while at the beginning never failed to criticize it as horribly cliché, which always got a laugh out of Ron.

It was only when Harry put his foot down and threatened to get a bullwhip to go with it that she managed to rein in her comments, but she still couldn't keep the annoyance off her face. Harry didn't care, though. He _liked_ the hat, even though he agreed that it was cliché. He hadn't gotten to watch many movies while living with the Dursleys, but _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ had been one of them and it had stuck with him, even into adulthood. Maybe it was because of how Jones always got into trouble and how the odds always seemed to be stacked against him. Or maybe it was because Jones always kept on fighting, no matter what.

Regardless, he wished he could convey to his best friend how wearing the hat symbolized his feelings about the job and his life, but for some reason he was never quite able to find the words.

He shook himself out of his reverie when he noticed that Hermione was in place and waiting for him. He moved behind her into the supporting position from which he would cast the magic necessary to reinforce hers. The ritual didn't actually call for it, but it also wasn't designed to reverse more than three millennia of time on an object, only a few days or weeks. That was why it hadn't been used before in a situation like this, and why the goblins were willing to cut their remaining sentence in half if they could pull it off.

Hermione was confident that her modifications would work, however, and that was enough for Harry.

He focused on what she was doing, making the small wand movements necessary to support her larger movements as she softly recited the ritual chant. They would be doing everything that was necessary for the ritual except for the final movement that would direct the magic into the proper alignment, instead letting it simply dissipate into the air. It was a complicated ritual, especially with two people, and they'd been practicing for much of the past two weeks to get it right.

As the magic built in the air, Harry suddenly felt a strong urge to sneeze. He quickly pinched his nose in an effort to avoid ruining everything, but the urge struck again, this time worse than before. He started to wonder what was bringing this on when he noticed a fine stream of dust falling in front of him, just barely visible in the room's flickering torchlight. Almost reluctantly, Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling, pretty sure he wasn't going to like what he found there.

The display room had been transformed by the museum into a recreation of the stone temple in which the statue of Wadjet-Bast originally stood. The columns and ceiling were only designed to _look_ like they were made from heavy stone blocks, he knew, but the foam and plaster mock-ups were so large that they were still incredibly heavy.

And right now, they were shaking violently.

In front of him, Hermione was raising her wand in preparation for the downward slashing motion that would complete the ritual — a slashing motion that she wasn't going to make during this test-run. Directly above them both, a massive piece of fake stone separated from its wooden support structure and started to fall, almost in slow motion.

Harry didn't bother to think about his next actions — he never did when their lives were in danger. He simply leapt forward, shoving her arms down as his momentum carried them both out of the impact zone. As the fake stone crashed into the museum floor, Harry and Hermione tumbled into the ritual circle, smearing runes and ruining two days of work.

Not that they noticed any of this, however, because almost as soon as they slid to a stop there was a bright flash of light and they were gone.

* * *

 **Cairo, Egypt. 1926.**

"Harry, what do you think you're doing!" Hermione exclaimed as she pulled away and tried to stand on wobbly legs.

"Bloody well saving you, what do you think?" Harry shot back as he tried to stand as well. It wasn't easy because he felt dizzy, and there was a ringing in his ears.

"Language," she chided him. "And what exactly did you think you were saving me from?"

"From that huge—" he started to say, pointing back behind them, but he stopped short when he saw nothing but empty space where the fake stone had fallen. "Where's that huge piece of fake stone that fell?" he asked in bewilderment.

"Sod the stone, where are all our runes?" Hermione demanded. Harry looked around and realized that everything he'd so laboriously drawn was gone. When he crouched down, he couldn't find any sign that anything had ever been there. "Two days of work, lost!" she cried. "What did you do?"

"What did I do? I was trying to save you! The piece of ceiling that came loose must have weighed several hundred pounds! Something about the magic or the ritual didn't react well with the ceiling. If I hadn't done something, we'd have both been crushed."

"Did you ever think to raise a shield?"

Harry's jaw opened and closed a couple of times before he answered, "My wand was busy supporting you in the ritual."

Hermione's face softened slightly. "Well... I guess that makes sense. Thanks." Harry nodded, relieved. She didn't have a short fuse, not like Ron, but when she did get angry, he found it hard to calm her down again. That was why he'd always thought that she and Ron wouldn't last as a couple: he was too quick to start an argument, and she was too slow to end it. It was a volatile combination.

Then of course she had to go and start getting angry again. "I just don't understand what happened to all our work!" She gestured around the room. "Everything you did! All my refinements! Gone!"

Harry was about to respond when someone else called out. "Excuse me!" They looked over to see a thin Egyptian man with a small moustache and wearing a fez standing at the entrance to the temple recreation room. "Who are you, and what do you think you're doing here so late?" he demanded.

"We're working here — who are you?" Harry responded.

The man huffed indignantly. "Why, I'm the director of this museum! And I'd know if anyone was scheduled to work in here!"

"Director? We've met Dr. Khaled Hawass a couple of times, and you're not him."

"I don't know who this Hawass person is, but I can assure you that he is not the director of this museum. I am — Dr. Terence Bey! Now if you don't get out of here immediately, I'll have to summon the police!"

Harry was about to pull out his wand when he felt Hermione's hand on his arm. He looked at her, and she shook her head slightly before turning back to face the irate man. "We're sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you. Clearly we've been misinformed or misled. We'll leave right now." Harry felt himself pulled past the haughty man and out of the room. When they reached the lobby, he opened the front door for Hermione and waited while she grabbed what looked like a newspaper from a nearby table.

"Harry, look at this," she whispered.

Because he was watching her and her face was buried in the paper, neither of them noticed the group of people trying to get into the museum, and they all tumbled to the ground in a heap just outside the doors.

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione said as she tried to help people get disentangled and back on their feet.

"Oh, it's quite alright, my dear," a dark-haired man said as he held on to her hand and tried to kiss her knuckles. Harry felt a sudden burst of annoyance, but before he could say anything the lone woman in the group grabbed the man and pulled him inside.

"Come along, Jonathan. We don't have time for your games!"

"But Evie!" he complained as he was dragged along, two other men following close behind.

"Sorry about those two," the larger man with light brown hair and an American accent said. "And sorry for the, uh, run-in here. We're just in a bit of a hurry."

"That's alright, it was as much our fault," Harry said to the man's back as he hurried inside.

When Harry returned his attention to Hermione, she was just standing there, watching where the others had disappeared into the museum. "You didn't fall for that bloke's charming act, did you?" Harry said, feelings of annoyance bubbling up. "I mean, it was clearly just an act."

"No, it's not..." Hermione started to say, then she turned to him with an indecipherable expression on her face. "Why are you so bothered by it?"

"What? No. I'm... no, I'm not. Bothered," Harry stammered. "I just, you know. Didn't want you to fall for it. He was really smarmy."

"Right," Hermione said, though for some reason she looked unconvinced.

"What?"

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "There was just something familiar about them." She looked around, then pulled Harry off to the side of the building. "We've got a problem. A serious problem."

"What now?"

"Look at the date on here," Hermione said as she shoved the paper in his face. "It says 1926!"

Harry took the newspaper and looked at the English-language headline, "WAFD PARTY WINS IN LANDSLIDE." Above that was the date, with the year 1926. He looked up and slowly turned in place, looking around at the square in front of the museum as if only now really seeing it. He looked at the old cars. He looked at the old signs and posters. Then his eyes finally came back to meet Hermione's.

"Oh, bugger," he whispered.

"Oh bugger is right," Hermione agreed, not objecting to his language this time. "That ritual was supposed to reverse the effects of time, but somehow it reversed time itself!"

"Wait, you don't think this is a prank, do you? Something Ron and Bill are trying to pull on us?"

Hermione frowned in thought as she looked around them. "No... no, I don't think so. I wouldn't put it past them to try something, but nothing this elaborate. Or so muggle. Even now, Ron's pretty clueless about things like cars — too clueless to fill the square with cars and advertisements that all matched the right era."

"But then... how?" Harry asked. "And why... well, why now? Why didn't we go back three thousand years? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still..."

"No, that's a good question," Hermione answered as she bit her bottom lip in thought. Harry remained silent, knowing better than to interrupt her while she was working on a problem. After a long pause, she said, "As far as the date goes, I assume it's because the ritual wasn't done quite right. You pulled my arm down in a way that wasn't exactly what the ritual called for, you were moving instead of supporting me, and I'm sure we ruined some of the runes as we slid into the circle. It wasn't enough to completely atomize us in a massive magical explosion that would have destroyed Egypt, but I guess it was enough to send us a few decades back in time before the energy matrix collapsed."

"So, uh, good news, then," Harry said, his eyes wide at the realization of what they'd managed to avoid.

Hermione ignored him and continued, "As for how exactly it sent us back in time instead of simply reversing time for us like it was supposed to for the statue... I'm not sure. We need to get back in that room. I need to do some tests and research what might have happened. Only then will I be able to tell if we can get back."

"And until then, we have to be very careful. We can't risk doing something that changes the future, otherwise who knows what will happen once we do return."

Hermione nodded as she looked at the museum's front doors. "I suspect that the director now has several guests. If we're quiet, we should be able to avoid notice."

Harry cast silencing and muggle notice-me-not charms on them both before they slipped into the building and made for the temple re-creation room. Along the way, they passed close by what was the director's office in their own time and heard a loud argument coming from inside.

"You think that makes killing innocent people acceptable?" they heard the woman exclaim. They both stopped dead in their tracks, unable to ignore what was being said.

"Let me see, Miss Carnahan," the director responded, "to prevent this creature from becoming immortal and destroying the world? Yes!"

Harry's eyes widened as he looked at Hermione. "That doesn't sound unfamiliar, does it?" he whispered. Hermione didn't respond, though. Instead, she seemed to be intently focused on the conversation coming through the partially-closed door. The expression on her face was one that Harry normally only saw when she was working on an especially difficult and important problem.

"He That Shall Not Be Named will fear cats until he is fully regenerated," the director said. Harry's and Hermione's eyes widened as they looked at each other.

"Who?" an American asked.

"We do not speak the creature's name, not if we can help it," a young, Egyptian-accented voice answered.

"His name... is Imhotep," the director said, and it was clear that he was more than a bit disturbed at having to voice that name aloud. "After he has fully regenerated himself, he will seek to resurrect the woman he loved and died for."

"Anck-su-namun," the woman said.

"Where did you hear that name?" someone asked, sounding surprised.

"He called me by that name in Hamunaptra," the woman answered. "And earlier in my bedroom, he... he tried to kiss me."

"It sounds like he has chosen you to be his human sacrifice to resurrect his love," the director said.

"Over my dead body!" came an American voice. "I won't let him touch you again, Evie."

"Thank you, Rick," the woman responded coolly, "but I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. And don't look at me like that, Jonathan Carnahan. Just because you're my brother doesn't mean I'm going to let you treat me like a delicate little flower, either." Harry couldn't help but smile at how much that sounded like Hermione when she berated him and Ron for being overly protective of her.

"It's not so simple, Mr. O'Connell," came another voice. "Tonight is the full moon, and..."

Harry didn't get a chance to hear the rest because Hermione started pulling him away. "What's going on?" he whispered once they were back in the room where they had started out.

In an apparent non sequitur, she asked, "I never explained to you why I accepted this job, did I?"

"Because it was better than goblin prison? Shorter hours than cleaning the dragon pens under Gringotts?"

She shook her head. "No, I mean why I accepted it so readily instead of complaining?"

"Oh, well, no, actually," Harry answered. Thinking back, he realized that she had seemed quite happy about the judgment of the goblin council. He hadn't given it much thought at the time because the offer of doing work like this was so unprecedented, and he himself had been so relieved.

"It was actually my suggestion that they offer us this alternative," Hermione explained.

"Really?" he said, shocked. "Why?"

"Aside from it being better than goblin prison?" Hermione asked pointedly. "Because before going to Hogwarts, one of my dreams was to become an archaeologist. Or to be more specific, an Egyptologist."

"That is kind of specific," he observed. "And it seems like an odd dream for a little kid."

"Well, before that I had wanted to be a dentist," she admitted, and Harry had to smile. "Anyway, it all began about a year before I got my Hogwarts letter, which was almost a year before I actually started. That was when my grandmother Helen died. I didn't know her because she lived in Australia, but apparently she knew all about me because I was the primary beneficiary of her will."

"And she was an Egyptologist?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, she was independently wealthy. According to the stories I heard from my mother (and this was much later), Helen's own father — my great-grandfather — was a bit of a ladies man who had several children with several different women."

"What a berk!"

"I suppose, but it worked out fine in the end, I guess," Hermione said with a shrug. "That's how Helen's mother ended up with so much money: my great-grandfather paid her a substantial amount to quietly go away."

"He was still a berk! I'd never do something like that!"

Hermione smiled slightly and got that indecipherable look on her face again before continuing, "Anyway, he may have paid her off to go away, but he never officially disinherited any of his kids, and when he died Helen was the only one of them left, so she got more. When she died, I was her only grandchild, so I got some family mementos and a large trust fund while the rest went to various charities."

"OK, and what does this have to do with Egypt?"

"I'm getting to that," Hermione said. "Among the mementos was a set of journals — journals written by my great-aunt, my great-grandfather's sister. She was a half-British, half-Egyptian archaeologist who, with her American husband, spent most of her life making incredible discoveries all around Egypt. When I read her journals, I grew enthralled with her stories, and she became a hero to me. I was inspired by her adventures and achievements, especially since I knew that at that time it wasn't easy for women to do much outside the home. I kind of gave up on my dream of following in her footsteps when I learned that I was a witch, but during the inquiry at Gringotts, I realized that not only might I be able to resurrect that dream, but I might be able to do so in a way that helped the three of us, too."

"Oh," Harry said as he processed what he'd just heard. "Well, uh, that's pretty cool. I mean, it would have been a shame if you'd have had to give up on that dream entirely, and I guess I should thank you for letting me tag along. As annoying as the job can be at times, I do enjoy it. And not just because it's better than goblin prison. In fact, once I discovered that Egypt is where horcruxes first originated, I rather liked the idea that I might be able to learn more about them and maybe have an easier time destroying them if I ever encounter them again in the future." Hermione smiled brightly at him. "But, uh, why are you telling me this now?"

"Because," Hermione said, her voice lowering to a whisper. "My great-grandfather and great-aunt were Jonathan and Evelyn Carnahan." Harry simply looked at her and blinked. "Carnahan became O'Connell when Evelyn, known to her friends as Evie, married an American named Rick. Rick O'Connell." Harry frowned, looked back in the direction of the director's office, then looked at Hermione.

"That is a curious coincidence, I'll admit, but... wait, you don't think—"

Hermione nodded energetically. "It all fits! The names, the date, the location, everything! And there was a gap in her journal of several days in 1926 during which she didn't write anything. The next entry mentions some awful experiences involving the lost city of Hamunaptra, but she said she didn't want to write it down because it was too awful to think about. The one thing she did say, though, was that it caused her to meet a dashing American adventurer named Rick O'Connell."

"Wow," Harry said as he thought about how unlikely it was that they'd manage to cross paths with these people in the past. He was about to say as much when he noticed the glint in Hermione's eyes. "No," he said firmly. "We can't risk doing anything to mess with the timeline."

"But I'd just like to maybe say hello? Or something?" Hermione pleaded. Harry sighed, never quite having figured out how to say no to her. "What if it were your grandparents or great-grandparents?" Hermione continued. "Wouldn't you want to see them? Maybe just meet them briefly?"

That brought Harry up short. He couldn't deny that exchanging greetings with his grandparents or great-grandparents would be interesting, but he'd never had enough of a personal connection to them to be really excited at the prospect, not like Hermione currently was. His **parents** , on the other hand — the idea of speaking to them, perhaps even touching them... he'd give almost anything for that.

And if Hermione's desire to say hello to O'Connell and the Carnahans was anything like that, then there was no way that he'd refuse her.

"If we pass by them again, fine," he finally said. "I suppose saying hello in such a case wouldn't be any worse than what we've already done. Just don't go seek them out and interrupt what they are doing — you don't know what sort of effect it will have on the future."

"Alright, I promise," Hermione said, and while he wanted to believe her, he knew enough to not entirely trust the glint she still had in her eyes. "And we may not have time anyway," she continued as she pulled out her wand and began to cast detection spells around the room. "Who knows how long this investigation will take."

* * *

Night had fallen before Hermione and Harry were done with their magical scans of the room, and she was looking through one of the books that had been in her beaded bag when Harry went to the window to investigate noises coming from outside the museum.

"Uh, Hermione?"

"What is it, Harry? You know I'm busy."

"You should come look at this."

"I told you not to bother me unless there's a disaster, like the world catching on fire," Hermione said as she reluctantly joined him at the window.

"How about a zombie apocalypse?" he replied, pointing to the masses of shambling, disease-ridden people that were slowly advancing on the building. "Personally, I think that qualifies. Can you tell what they're saying?"

"Imhotep," she whispered.

Both of them jumped slightly when they heard crashes outside the room, and they ran to the doorway to see what was going on.

"The Book of the Living is located beneath the statue of Anubis!" they heard Evie exclaim.

"Do we have to go back out there?" Rick asked.

"That's my great-aunt and uncle," Hermione whispered.

"To destroy the creature and save the world, yes," the museum director responded. Before anyone else could say anything, there was a loud crash that sounded like it came from downstairs. "They've broken in!" the director said. "We must flee — hurry, there's a private entrance at the back we can use."

"We need to get out, too," Harry said, grabbing her hand.

"Do we go with them?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "We can't interfere in what they're doing. We'll find a different exit." Much to Hermione's dismay, Harry's idea of an exit was to go to the roof and pull out two shrunken brooms.

"Harry..." she said pleadingly.

"It's the only way out that they can't follow," Harry insisted as he renewed the notice-me-not spells on them, then added them to the brooms as well. "Just stick close to me. We won't go too high or too fast."

True to his word, he only floated a few feet off the roof, then slowly drifted away. Hermione stayed within touching distance because she still wasn't comfortable with flying on a broom, despite how often it had to be done in their jobs. They'd only been drifting for a few seconds when Hermione gasped and pointed towards the ground. "My great-grandfather Jonathan! Those... those zombie things are going to spot him."

"No, Hermione," Harry said, grabbing her broom. "You can't interfere. He must get away or you wouldn't have been born!"

"Unless we've already changed things and messed up the timeline," Hermione muttered.

They watched as Jonathan went stiff and started chanting "Im-ho-tep! Im-ho-tep!" Almost immediately, the crowd turned away and started going in another direction, allowing Jonathan to get to a car.

Harry gave Hermione a pointed look. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just... it's hard to stand by and watch something like that happen, especially when it's family."

"I know it is," Harry agreed. "But it feels really weird to be the responsible one in this relationship."

"Relationship?" Hermione asked, quirking one eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah," Harry replied, shifting uncomfortably on his broom. "You know, uh, partnership."

"Sure," Hermione said, though Harry didn't think she sounded convinced. "Look, there they go! Let's at least follow their car to make sure they get away."

"What?" Harry asked as Hermione started to move off — and at a much faster speed than she normally liked to fly. "Of course they get away," he insisted once he'd caught up with her. "Like I said, you wouldn't have been born otherwise."

"I don't care!" Hermione retorted, most of her attention on the car below. "I need to see what happens. I need to see it and know for sure."

Harry grimaced at the fact that she'd picked now of all times to get brave on a broom, but he didn't try to stop her. Even if he could have done it safely, he knew she wouldn't forgive him if he denied her this, so he resigned himself to tagging along in the hope that he could prevent any serious harm if it came to that.

* * *

By the time they landed on the roof of a building above and behind where the car had crashed, Hermione was out of her mind with worry, and Harry was at his wit's end. The car had been under constant attack for several blocks, and one of the occupants had been dragged out and killed halfway through the trip. Now the survivors were surrounded, outnumbered by at least a hundred to one, and it was all Harry could do to keep Hermione from going down there to help.

"I'm telling you, they'll make it," he hissed.

"How?" she asked. "There's no way they can handle that many!"

"Just give them a chance," Harry insisted as they watched a tall, bald man approach and exchange some words with the survivors. They couldn't hear what was said, but the bald man looked remarkably smug. After a few seconds, they watched him lead Evelyn away and disappear into the mob, which almost immediately began moving in on the others.

"No!" Hermione screamed, and before Harry could do anything she disappeared with a **crack,** only to reappear a second later in the middle of the group, her wand out and spraying fire.

"Aw, hell!" Harry exclaimed before he apparated down beside her, spraying fire in the other direction.

"Where did you two come from?" Rick asked, using his pistols to take out two attackers that had gotten close.

"Not that we're complaining, mind you!" Jonathan added.

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Harry said, sending a wave of fire in a new direction, driving off some of the attackers and setting others on fire. "Hermione, grab the two nearest you and get back to the roof. Once you're gone, I'll get these two."

"Right," he heard her say, followed quickly by the crack of her apparition.

"Hey, where'd they go?" Rick demanded.

"Same place we're going," Harry said as he grabbed Rick's and Jonathan's arms before apparating himself. When he arrived back on the roof, his two passengers joined the museum director and a young man in desert robes on their hands and knees as they threw up everything they'd eaten for the past week.

"What the hell?" Harry demanded as he stepped around the retching men to face Hermione.

"That was my first time... being squeezed through a straw," said the younger Egyptian man as he clutched at his stomach, and now Harry could see that he had a curious series of tattoos on his face.

"Sorry!" Hermione responded. "I just couldn't stand by and do nothing!"

"We shouldn't interfere! Who knows how badly we've screwed up the timeline!"

"Uh, excuse me," Rick said as he wiped his mouth. "What the hell is going on?"

"Hush," Harry said. "You won't remember any of this after we obliviate you anyway."

"Do we need to take away their memories?" Hermione asked.

"I vote no," Jonathan said weakly from the ground, still looking awfully green.

"How can we not?" Harry said. "It's the only way to minimize damage!"

"Well, since the damage has already been caused, maybe we should just help?" Hermione suggested. "I mean, that guy did just kidnap my great-aunt."

"Great-aunt?" Rick asked, then he turned to Jonathan. "How old is your sister, anyway?"

"From what I've seen so far, I would welcome your help," the young Egyptian man said as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "My name is Ardeth Bay. I am a Medjai chieftain and warrior. We must travel to Hamunaptra to kill that foul creature before it unleashes an apocalypse that destroys the world!"

"No pressure or anything," Jonathan muttered, still sitting on the ground.

Hermione crossed her arms and smiled triumphantly at Harry.

"And not take our memories?" Rick added. "I'd really like to keep my memories, by the way."

Harry slumped a little before saying, "Alright, alright. We'll help."

"Thank you!" Hermione exclaimed as she leapt forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Ouch," Jonathan said with a wince. "Tough luck, old chap. Looks like her hugs are as painful as my sister's."

"Speaking of which," Rick said, "What's this about her being your great-aunt?"

Hermione pulled back and looked at Harry. "If we're going to help them, we'll have to tell them the truth."

Harry nodded and said softly, "In for a knut, in for a galleon." He then turned to the four men staring at them and said, "You might as well sit down and relax, this is quite a story."

"Our time is too short — the creature is already on his way to Hamunaptra!" Ardeth objected.

Hermione shook her head. "If you can clearly visualize the location, we'll have no trouble getting there. We can travel from here to Hamunaptra and back again just as fast as we traveled from the street to the roof."

"Truly?" Dr. Bey asked while Jonathan started looking green again.

"I know, it's not a very pleasant way of traveling, but you do you get used to it, and there's nothing faster," Harry said. "Now, as for our story. A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, smacking him on the back of his head and knocking off his hat before turning to the others. "Ignore him. The truth is..."


	2. Hallows of the Sith (HP-Star Wars Xover)

**Hallows of the Sith**

 **Summary:** Disillusioned with wizarding Britain, Harry and Hermione retreat to Grimmauld Place, where they study both muggle and magical subjects while trying to decide whether they should return to the muggle world or keep trying with the magical world. After an unexpected discovery about the true nature of the Deathly Hallows, they are launched into a new adventure.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Star Wars

 **Pairing:** Harry/Hermione; Revan/Bastila

 **A/N:** This is a male Harry instead of FemHarry, largely because I wanted to have a more obvious parallel between the Harry/Hermione and Revan/Bastila relationships. I have a bit of an outline for this, but I'm not sure where to take it — what exactly the end goal would be, short of "stopping the Empire," of course. I would need some clear steps that provide for good plot and character development before I'd start pursuing this seriously.

Also, this is clearly AU after _Deathly Hallows_ as well as after _Knights of the Old Republic_.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Star Wars, Disney does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Master of What?**

"Are you still reading that?" Hermione asked. "I'd have thought that you would have moved on to something more useful by now."

Harry shrugged noncommittally, unable to fully articulate why the book had kept such a tight hold on his attention over the past week. Hermione was right that there were plenty of other, more important things to study — in the two years since they'd left Hogwarts, three years since the defeat of Voldemort, he'd only managed to get through about a quarter of the Black family library. Most of that had been in the last few months, during which he and Hermione had been studying everything they could, both muggle and magical.

Hermione, of course, had gone through three quarters of the library, not to mention all the muggle material she'd read.

But ever since Luna — one of their few friends who kept in touch with them — had sent him her father's large compendium of his personal research into the Deathly Hallows, Harry hadn't been able to put it down. He was reading it day and night, neglecting everything else.

And it was driving Hermione crazy.

"Harry? Are you even listening to me? You know we have a lot to get through before we can make our decision. We gave ourselves a year, and our time is almost up."

Harry sighed and closed the book. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm not sure why this book interests me so much, but it's really hard for me to put it aside."

"You don't think it's cursed, do you?" she asked, frowning now as she eyed the hand-bound tome much more warily.

"No, it's nothing like that," Harry assured her. "I think... I suppose I'm just hoping that it will give me some idea of why I can't get rid of the Hallows. Why they keep coming back to me — even the Elder Wand after I snapped it. Or maybe an idea of how to use them. Other than the obvious, I mean. They are unique, so no matter what we end up choosing to do, one or more of them might prove useful."

Hermione nodded slowly, and her face softened a bit. "I guess that makes sense. I just wish you wouldn't ignore all the rest of your studies in the process. We're going to need to make some hard decisions soon about whether we want to try to tough it out in the magical world or get certifications in the muggle world so we can live there."

"I know, I know," Harry replied as he opened the book back up. "Just give me a little more time with this."

* * *

The next day, Harry was sitting at the large kitchen table and working with the Hallows when Hermione came in to discuss dinner. "What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

"Look at what I found in the book," Harry said, gesturing with his chin towards the open book on the table. "Xenophilius found that image in some ancient parchment that was falling apart and did his best to reproduce it."

"Are these the Hallows?" Hermione asked, looking at what appeared to be a drawing of a fabric cone with a stone at the tip.

"Yes. It's a three-dimensional version of the common symbol for the Hallows. A way to create the symbol in reality, using the Hallows themselves."

"But why?"

"On the next page, Xeno wrote about a legend that anyone who mastered the Hallows and created this symbol with them would be provided with great knowledge and power."

"Another myth, Harry?" Hermione began, but she stopped when he shot her an irritated look.

"You were convinced that the Hallows were just a myth, too, remember?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip for a moment, then said, "Alright, what seems to be the problem? Something must not be working right, otherwise you'd have already done it and found whatever there is to find."

Harry's expression relaxed into something approaching relief. "The problem is the cloak. Based on the drawing, I have to create a cone out of it, slip the wand down through the hole at the top, then rest the stone on the tip. It sounds simple, but the fabric of the cloak is just too slick and floppy — I can't create a cone that will stay upright."

"Let me see," Hermione ordered, and Harry handed over the cloak for her to work with. It didn't take her long to reach the same conclusion, but she also had a solution. "If — and I emphasize if — there's any truth to this, then maybe it isn't meant to stand up on its own until the other two pieces are added. Maybe the magic of all three is required to overcome the slippery nature of the material."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "That's plausible, but it will be easier if we do it together, otherwise the cloak will flop all over the place."

"Agreed," Hermione said as she proceeded to fold up the cloak in a way that created a neat cone, though it only held its shape so long as she continued to gently pull it taut.

"Let me just slip the wand in up here..." Harry said as he inserted the Elder Wand through the hole at the top. "Can you reach the stone, Hermione? I'll hold one side of the cone."

"Sure," Hermione replied, letting him help hold the cloak in its cone shape with one hand and hold the wand upright with the other while she grabbed the Resurrection Stone with her free hand and set it on top.

Harry's face immediately fell when nothing happened, but before Hermione could say anything, they both noticed the Hallows growing warm. "Harry...?" Hermione managed to get out before they were hit with a blinding flash of light and something physically shoved them back, knocking them to the kitchen floor.

Once they had blinked away the spots and could see again, they both slowly got up on their knees and peered over the edge of the table. There they found not the three Hallows, but rather a solid, metallic pyramid about a foot tall. It was mostly black, though there was some sort of golden framework around it, and it was covered with unfamiliar symbols and hieroglyphs. At the top was a black gem that looked almost, but not quite, like the Resurrection Stone.

"Still think it's a myth?" Harry whispered, feeling entranced by the strange object, but also concerned because he thought he could feel faint wisps of something touching his mind. It wasn't exactly comforting, like when he and Hermione practiced Occlumency, but it wasn't dark, either, as when his mind had been attacked by Voldemort.

"I'm never going to scoff at anything Luna says again," Hermione promised. "Ever."

As they stood and leaned forward to look more closely at the mysterious object that had appeared in their kitchen, a soft light began to shine out of the gem at the top of the pyramid, and a few seconds later the light shifted into the top half of a male figure. He looked at them, looked around, then looked back at them again. He seemed to say something, though it wasn't a language that either Harry or Hermione recognized. The figure frowned, then seemed to lean forward slightly, staring at them, and they both felt a sharp pain in their heads. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was much more intense than any pain either had felt in a long time.

"What... what was that?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, rubbing her forehead, "but I didn't like it, whatever it was."

"Ah, good, I understood that," the figure said, speaking a perfectly understandable form of English now. "Greetings. There are two of you, I see. Even better — it appears that the protections we put on this worked as we intended."

"Uh, protections?" Harry asked.

"Who or what are you?" Hermione asked darkly. "And what did you do to us?"

"Oh, right — where are my manners?" he replied before clearing his throat. "My name is Revan."

As soon as he said this, the top half of a female figure appeared next to him. "And my name is Bastila."

"What you have here is a holocron," Revan continued. "Traditionally, holocrons are created by individuals to pass along their teachings, but ours is unique. As far as we know, we are the only ones to have ever created such a device together."

"Since we are not just married, but share a force bond, it seemed the appropriate thing to do," Bastila said as Revan put one arm around her. "I apologize for the pain you just experienced, but it was necessary to extract your language so we could communicate. We couldn't even ask for permission without doing that first."

"You were able to learn our language, just like that?" Harry asked.

"I repeat: who or what are you?" Hermione asked, this time pulling her wand and aiming it at the pyramid.

Revan and Bastila looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to the young witch and wizard. "As I expected, there is much we need to tell you — far too much to explain in one sitting," Revan replied. "For right now, you will have to be content with a summary. I promise you, though, that neither of us mean you any harm."

Hermione eyed them warily for a moment, then gave a grudging nod. They both sat down, though she didn't stop pointing her wand at the device — a fact which both the images seemed to approve of.

"As we said, this is a holocron," Bastila continued. "Holocrons are controlled by gatekeepers — holographic imprints of the personalities of their creators — combined with an artificial intelligence and stored in a device that is a combination of organic storage crystals and advanced technology, all for the purpose of creating interactive teaching tools. And that's what this holocron was created to do: teach. Since our teachings were condemned by so many, both Sith and Jedi, we decided to protect our holocron, preventing any but the most worthy from gaining access to it. One of those protections is that only another couple with a bond like ours would be able to properly assemble the pieces to reveal the holocron's existence."

"Jedi? Sith?" Harry asked, feeling even more confused.

"Thousands of your years ago..." Revan started, then he looked at his companion with a slight frown. "That is right, isn't it?"

Bastila looked off into the distance for a moment before saying, "The humans here have put artificial satellites into orbit... primitive, to be sure, but they do exist. Let me access one of them... and historical databases... yes, it's been approximately three thousand, six hundred years."

"Wow, I had no idea the Hallows were that old," Harry said.

"Hallows?" Revan asked.

"The, uh, pieces," Harry said. "The wand, the cloak, and the stone. They are known as the Deathly Hallows. We put them together and they became—" He gestured vaguely at the device.

"A holocron," Hermione said.

"Yeah, that."

"Ah, I wonder how they acquired that name," Revan said.

"According to the story, they were gifts which three brothers received from Death," Hermione explained.

"Death?" Bastila exclaimed. "As in... some sort of personification of the end of life?" Both Hermione and Harry nodded, then they all looked at Revan when he started chuckling.

"I'll bet it was originally 'Darth,' not Death," he said with a grin. "Somewhere the name got mangled."

"Probably our youngest grandson," Bastila agreed. "He always did like the stories we told. He was the one most likely to try to pass them along."

"Well, no matter," Revan said. "Over three thousand years ago we came to this planet, looking to escape persecution. We were both masters in using the Force, a type of energy which is created by all living things and thus exists throughout the galaxy. When we arrived, we discovered that the Force was unusually strong here — stronger than anyplace we'd ever been or even heard of, in fact — but for some reason it had manifested differently here than anywhere else."

"The primitive humans we encountered called it magic," Bastila said. "That's actually not uncommon — most pre-hyperspace cultures treat Force powers as magic — but what surprised us was how, even in their primitive connections to the Force, the humans here were able to casually do things which even the greatest Jedi and Sith would never dream was possible. They could transform objects, change how objects behaved, even transform themselves. It was amazing."

"We were two of the greatest masters of the Force to ever live, yet we were suddenly like ignorant apprentices again. It was both exciting and humbling," Revan said.

"If this, uh, Force can't do such things, then what can it do?" Hermione asked, always eager to learn something new, especially if it might prove useful. She and Harry hadn't discussed it often, but they both feared that dark times were coming again, sooner or later, and it was unlikely that they would be able to avoid getting caught up in the inevitable fighting. Even worse, they weren't sure they would find it easy to pick a side the next time.

"That would take a long, long time to explain," Bastila replied. "A lifetime, in fact. Suffice it to say, the way we learned to use the Force was in some ways simpler than the magic you are familiar with, but in other ways more powerful. We would never have been able to use the force to turn a stick into a rock, or to change the color of hair. However, the Force let us run faster, jump higher, dodge attacks before they even occur, and more."

"We learned a great deal once we settled here," Revan continued. "Although the Force and magic are related, they aren't exactly the same, so it's difficult to learn how to use both effectively. But we managed, and we passed some of what we knew on to our son, and later our three grandsons."

"But not everything," Bastila added. "We believed that only a truly worthy couple would be able to fully understand and make use of our knowledge. Two people who were each powerful in their own right, and then made even more powerful through their bond in the Force. Or perhaps a bond in magic."

"Uh, I was kind of wondering about that," Harry said, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable. "What do you mean by 'couple'? Because Hermione and I are just friends."

"And what sort of bond?" Hermione asked. Her wand was now on the table instead of pointing at the holocron, but she kept her hand on it.

Revan and Bastila looked intently at the two for a moment before Bastila told the story of how she accidentally force-bonded to Revan. "We were on opposite sides of a war, a violent and costly war, in fact. At the time that the two of us were fighting, Revan was betrayed by his closest friend, and as a result he received terrible injuries. I could have left him for dead, but I believed that everyone deserved at least one chance to repent and start over, even him. So despite the dangers to myself, I began working on him, using the Force to heal his physical injuries." She paused, and it seemed to Harry and Hermione that she was struggling emotionally with the memories, even though she was only a computer hologram rather than a real person. "It was very difficult and very draining," she concluded. "I had to expend a great deal of Force energy to keep his spirit from passing on while also healing his injuries, and in the process I believe ended up healing his soul as well. Has anything similar happened to the two of you?"

"No, nothing so extreme," Harry tried to say, but Hermione interrupted him.

"Actually, yes, it has. Remember when you were bitten by Nagini at Godric's Hollow?"

"But I didn't think my injuries were so bad."

Hermione sighed and looked uncomfortable. "Well, I might have downplayed them a little." When Harry gave her a skeptical look, she huffed and said, "Alright, fine, I downplayed them a lot. A whole lot. But honestly, why are you so surprised? Nagini's bites killed Professor Snape in just a few minutes. It took the most skilled Healers at St. Mungo's weeks to get Mr. Weasley healthy again. Yet I got you up and moving in a few days. How do you think I managed that? I'm good, but I'm not that good."

Harry's mouth opened and closed several times before he finally said, "Oh... I never thought about that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obviously. I suppose that having been bitten by the basilisk in our second year bought you a little time, but it certainly didn't make you immune to all snake poisons. You were unconscious for most of the following week, and I spent all of my time casting various healing spells on you. I didn't even sleep myself for the first two days, constantly trying to heal you, close wounds that kept reopening, and keep your magic going."

"Wow, that's impressive," Harry replied.

"You're lucky that I paid such close attention to what Madam Pomfrey always did for you whenever you were in the hospital wing," Hermione said, sitting a little straighter. "I'll admit that I found healing magic interesting in its own right, but I knew even before the end of first year that being friends with you would require that one of us know how to use it, and I didn't trust Ron with that much responsibility."

Bastila nodded. "What you two experienced sounds exactly like the conditions needed to create a Force bond — or, like I said, a magical bond."

"What does a bond entail?" Harry asked.

"It depends on you," Revan said. "Such bonds are not uncommon between masters and apprentices, and in such cases involve little more than a slight sharing of emotions and maybe an ability to sense where the other is."

"But our holocron is keyed to appear in the presence of a much deeper and more significant form of the bond," Bastila added. "We wanted it to only appear to two people who were similar to us: a worthy couple who would be able to share much, much more through their bond. Power. Emotions. Thoughts. Knowledge. Love."

"One of the reasons why we were persecuted and had to flee was our discovery that our love for each other deepened our connections to the force and, in turn, strengthened our Force bond," Revan explained. "We were both powerful already, but our love increased that power greatly, which was one reason why others perceived us as a threat. We couldn't be controlled, so we needed to be eliminated."

Both Harry and Hermione were blushing slightly by this point, and after a moment Harry said, "I'm not sure we have this bond-thingy you're talking about. And we're certainly not a couple. I mean, sure, we both broke up with the people we were dating before, but we haven't been dating each other."

Revan and Bastila each cocked an eyebrow in response, and Harry wondered how long they had been together to develop such coordination. "I rather doubt that that is true," Bastila responded, "but we're not going to be able to continue so long as you are unable or unwilling to acknowledge the bond I am certain you share. Talk to each other and search your feelings. Once you have a better understanding of yourselves, come back and touch the holocron so we can talk some more."

The holographic images then flickered and disappeared, leaving the two living humans alone again.

* * *

Dinner passed in uncomfortable silence, and it wasn't until they had cleaned up the dishes that Hermione finally broke down and said, "Honestly, this is ridiculous. We shouldn't have so much trouble talking. We've known each other for almost a decade now!"

"I know," Harry said, feeling frustrated at the day's revelations. "It's just... I don't know what to make of what those two told us. I find myself wanting to believe it's all true, but how do we know it is? Where's the proof? The one thing we can check, that supposed bond, doesn't exist."

"Actually, I think they may be telling the truth about that," Hermione said softly, and Harry's head whipped up. "I've been thinking, searching my feelings like she said, and... and I think she might be right."

"How?" Harry half whispered. Hermione was the last person he'd ever have expected to say that. She always relied on logic and evidence — more so than anyone he'd ever known.

"Well, for one thing, I think I felt it when you died," Hermione said. At Harry's shocked expression, she reached across the table and put one of her hands on his. "Yes, I've always known that you really did die out in the forest. When it happened, I felt this horrible tearing in my chest, then I collapsed to the ground, crying. I felt like I wanted to die myself, but I didn't understand why. A minute later, though, I felt fine again. It took me a while to figure out what happened, but eventually I put together the clues and all the little things you left out whenever you discussed the final battle, and I realized that you weren't being entirely truthful with everyone."

"Sorry," he mumbled. He hadn't wanted to tell anyone because he hadn't wanted to be pitied, and he certainly didn't want to stand out any more than he already did. He'd had no idea that Hermione had suffered too, or that she'd figured out the truth long ago.

"No, don't apologize," Hermione insisted. "What happened to you was obviously private and personal. You don't have to tell anyone exactly what happened if you don't want to. I'm just saying that I know — and that I've known for a while, not because I watched or anything, but because I somehow felt it. And now I think that maybe it was this bond that Bastila told us about."

"Is that all you've felt?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. As I've thought about it this evening, I think that maybe I've experienced some of your emotions, too. The stronger ones, at least, like for example when you argued with Ginny. At the time, I thought that I was simply upset on your behalf because Ginny was being unreasonable, but now I'm not so sure."

After a few moments, Harry nodded. "Now that you mention it, I think that I experienced the same thing when you fought with Ron."

"For now, at least, I think that's fair evidence that what they told us may be true. A bond of some sort exists between us, and my healing you in the Forest of Dean is as good an explanation for that as any. There certainly wasn't any evidence of a bond before that time."

"What about... you know, their idea that we're a couple?" Harry asked as his throat went dry..

Hermione slowly pulled her hand back and stared down at the table in front of her. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Haven't you ever, you know, thought about us like that? Wondered what it might be like if we got together? Wondered why we never tried?"

Harry hadn't ever heard Hermione sound so vulnerable, or ever seen her look so uncertain. He wasn't sure how to best answer her question, except perhaps to be as honest as possible. Perhaps the time for half-truths and self-denial was past.

"Yes and no," he said quietly, looking away so he didn't have to see her reaction. "I thought about it a couple of times, and I was tempted to do so a whole lot more, but I knew you and Ron fancied each other. I... I didn't want to get in between you two. I didn't want to risk losing the first two friends I'd ever had."

"And now?" Hermione asked. "Ron and I haven't been together for over a year. And it's been just you and me in this house for nearly as long."

"It's been getting a lot harder to avoid such thoughts," Harry admitted. "But I've still been scared about doing anything that might damage our friendship." He paused as he ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin, Hermione, you're my only real friend. Except for the Firebolt incident and some arguments during sixth year, you've always been at my side. You've certainly stood by me more than anyone else. I... I don't think I could handle not having you in my life."

"So you were willing to be content with just having me as a friend, rather than risk losing that by reaching out for more?" Hermione asked. Harry looked up, surprised at how accurate her words were, then he nodded.

"I've felt more or less the same way," she went on. "I suspect that I've thought a lot more about what it would be like if we were together, but I still didn't want to risk losing you."

They were both quiet for a few moments, then Harry slowly reached out for Hermione, and her hand met his in the middle of the table. "Maybe... maybe with this bond it isn't such a risk?" he suggested, and Hermione smiled.

"Maybe not," she agreed. "Let's talk to Revan and Bastila."

Harry got up to fetch the holocron from the counter where they'd moved it, then sat down again next to Hermione. After they both reached out and touched it, the two holographic images reappeared.

"Have you reached any conclusions?" Revan asked.

"We... well, we both admitted that we have felt something more than friendship for each other for a while," Harry said. "Neither of us has said anything because we haven't' wanted to risk hurting the relationship we did have, but since we both feel the same way, and since there does indeed appear to be some sort of bond at work that might help, we're willing to try for something more." He paused to look at Hermione, then continued, "However, we're not going to rush into anything. Even if there is a bond that will help us, we both value our friendship too much to take any unnecessary risks with it."

"That's understandable," Bastila said. "If you allow your relationship to develop naturally, you'll find that not just loving each other, but openly acknowledging that love and allowing yourselves to be consciously filled with each other's love, will greatly aid you in connecting both with the Force and with magic. There's no rush, though, and pushing things will likely only create difficulty."

"Were you really forced into exile because you loved each other?" Hermione asked. "That seems so horrible."

"That was part of it, but not the whole story," Revan answered. "Like Bastila said, our love for each other made us far more powerful than anyone else, which caused others to fear us. It's something that you may have to contend with. Another factor was our desire to understand and use all of the Force, both the Dark Side and the Light Side."

"Dark Side?" Harry asked with a scowl. "Like dark magic?"

"When we were alive, the majority of strong Force users were split between the Jedi and the Sith," Bastila explained. "The Jedi used the Light Side of the Force, emphasizing defense and knowledge. While that sounds good, they worked so hard to avoid the negative consequences of strong emotions that they ended up trying to suppress and deny all emotion entirely, cutting themselves off from the rest of society. It wasn't healthy. The Sith, in contrast, used the Dark Side of the Force, which is more aggressive and is fueled by strong emotions. While it was good that they recognized the importance of passion and emotion in a well-rounded life, they tended towards selfish emotions to the exclusion of everything else. As a result, they became dedicated to conquest and control over others. There was no balance in either group."

"And so neither group understood love," Hermione concluded.

Bastila nodded. "Love was condemned among the Jedi because they feared the negative consequences of feelings of jealousy and loss. They decided that it was better to never love than risk losing what one loves. It was also condemned among the Sith because they looked down on such attachments as a weakness that could be exploited by one's enemies. As you can imagine, neither group understood the power and strength that a Force user can get from love."

"The third factor was that we kept telling people things that they didn't want to hear," Revan continued. "In addition to saying unpopular, uncomfortable things about the nature of the Force, I was also aware of the existence of a large group of dark Force users calling themselves the True Sith. They had created an empire well outside of Republic space and were building up to the day when they could invade. I warned others that we needed to prepare, needed to build up defenses, but no one wanted to believe me. No one wanted to make inconvenient changes to their comfortable lives, especially so soon after a devastating war. They accused me of inciting panic, of wanting to take over myself, and in the end that was the final impetus which forced us to flee."

"That sounds awfully familiar," Harry muttered.

"How so?" Revan asked.

When Harry just scowled darkly, Hermione answered for him. "Harry's been having problems like that for a while. A Dark Lord everyone thought was dead returned at the end of our fourth year of school, and for the entire following year the government libeled him, saying he'd lied about seeing Voldemort's resurrection. We finally beat him three years ago, but ever since we've been trying to tell other witches and wizards that they need to improve society to eliminate the factors that helped give rise to such darkness. That they need to reduce corruption in order to make society more fair. And that soon non-magicals are likely to discover them, especially if they keep stumbling around in ignorance of the non-magical world. No one has wanted to listen, and because we refused to be silent or support the Ministry, we've been marginalized. Even most of our friends have started ignoring us, preferring the rosy picture that the Ministry has painted of life after Voldemort's defeat over our dire warnings."

"We're not even sure if we want to stay in magical society anymore," Harry added. "That's why we're here, together. We've been studying magical and non-magical topics in order to figure out where our futures should be. We were both raised in non-magical society, so we're comfortable living there."

"The fact that we have been doing this together and were planning to stick together, without questioning it, probably should have clued us in to the fact that we felt more than mere friendship for each other," Hermione observed as she reached out to take Harry's hand.

Bastila smiled while Revan nodded and said, "Yes, that story sounds very similar. I doubt that it's a coincidence, too. The Force often brings people to the right place and time where they can do the most good. One of the things that Force users of our time learned, in fact, was how to meditate in ways that allowed them to be guided by the Force to where they were most needed. We were unable to help our society because the powers arrayed against us were simply too big for us to overcome, but it's possible that the Force brought you two together, here and now with our holocron, in order to enable you to achieve success where we failed."

"You mean, you can help us fix the problems in magical society?" Harry asked.

"Magical **and** non-magical," Revan clarified. "Yet there are no guarantees. Like us, you are but two people standing against an entire world. Success will not come easily, but ultimately the choice will be yours as to whether you try or not."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"We can offer you two options," Bastila said. "In both cases, we will train you in everything we know, though depending on your choice will have to focus on different topics. With the first option, you can leave your planet entirely — abandon your fellows to the fate they are making for themselves after refusing for so long to heed your advice. The starship we used to travel here should still be accessible — we expended a great deal of magic and Force energy to ensure that it would be hidden and preserved, even for millennia if necessary."

"I've always wanted to go into space," Hermione said, her voice filled with wonder. "I can barely imagine what it must be like to travel to other planets... Oh! And encounter other species!"

"Alternatively, when we train you we can give extra attention to the skills and knowledge you would need to change your society for the better," Revan went on. "In addition to learning how to unite both sides of the Force as well as magic, you will hopefully learn how to unite magical and non-magical society, eventually transforming your primitive planet into a major power that will reach across the stars."

"But how...?" Harry started.

"As we said before, this holocron is unique," Revan explained. "Not only does it contain the combined knowledge of the two of us, but also millennia worth of scientific knowledge and technological information. It will take time and effort, but it will be possible for you to recreate the level of technology that the two of us once knew — especially with our ship, the _Ebon Hawk_ , and all its contents as models to work from."

"So these are your options," Bastila concluded. "Leave your world to its fate so you two can explore the stars on your own, learning and travelling as you see fit; or stay and begin the long, arduous, and possibly thankless task of remaking your world in a new image." She gazed at them expectantly. "Which do you choose?"


	3. A Witch and an Amazon Walk into a Bar

**A Witch and an Amazon Walk into a Bar...**

A response to Blood Brandy's Vegas Vacation Challenge.

 **Summary:** At the end of 5th year, Remus whisks Rose Potter away to America so she can rest and decompress, far from the demands of wizarding Britain. In Vegas she meets someone else dealing with serious personal problems, Diana Prince, aka Wonder Woman. The two get drunk together, and the next morning they find that they made bad decisions while inebriated. Or maybe not so bad after all?

 **Pairing:** Rose Potter/Diana Prince (Wonder Woman)

 **A/N:** This idea is the one most likely to become a full story first. It's also my favorite. I have a somewhat detailed outline, right through to the end, and have written parts of it as well. I like the main characters and how they will develop. They're both hurting for different reasons, and I like how the two of them can help each other overcome the problems in their lives.

It's important to note up front that this is an AU Wonder Woman who isn't precisely like any of her canon incarnations, though I try to incorporate as much of relevant canon as possible. She's younger and less experienced than any of them, though perhaps closest in age to her incarnation in the New 52 continuity. Her origin story (as well as that of the Amazons generally) is mostly from the Modern Age comics run after _Crisis on Infinite Earths_. In my own mind, I've modelled her after the large, strong, Amazonian Wonder Woman drawn by nebezial (stjepan sejic) on DeviantArt. Look for the images "Morning Warmup" and "Death by Snu Snu".

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Wonder Woman, DC does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Beginner's Luck**

 **Friday, August 2, 1996. Excalibur Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas, Nevada.**

Rose paused just outside the casino's bar to look in one of the many mirrors, self-consciously running her hands over herself as she made sure she still appeared to be a woman in her mid-twenties. Between the glamors and her magically created fake ID, she didn't expect to have any trouble being served alcohol, but she was still nervous. The laws in magical North America were generally less restrictive than in magical Britain — for example, they allowed people to use magic outside of school starting at the age of fifteen, not seventeen — but she didn't want to run afoul of muggle laws.

A quick look back over her shoulder confirmed that Remus was still at the craps table, tossing back another free drink while some bimbo in a barely-there red dress blew on his hand for luck. She was tempted to be annoyed that he was doing such a lousy job watching over her, but that would defeat the purpose of getting away so she could drink in peace and maybe forget about the past year — and especially how it ended.

 _He needs this vacation as much as I do_ , she thought as she tried to walk confidently into the dimly lit bar, _and if that's his way of letting off some steam, who am I to complain? We'll see who's in better shape in the morning._ _Besides, I just turned sixteen! The dinner and cake Remus organized were nice, but I'm old enough now to do something a bit more adult._

Her attempt to act like an adult hit a major stumbling block — literally, when Rose started wobbling on heels that were more than a bit higher than she was accustomed to. She'd only worn them to help reinforce the impression of being older, not for the sake of comfort. Now that she didn't have Remus' arm to steady her, though, they threatened to completely undermine all her efforts.

Rather than take any more risks, Rose grabbed the nearest stool at the bar and asked for a Piña Colada at the bartender's questioning look. She had no idea what it was like, but Petunia had sung a song about them more than once when she thought no one was listening, and it was the only cocktail she knew by name. Once she got it, she was surprised by just how good it was. _Wow — is there alcohol in this? I can't even taste it!_ She downed it in just a couple of seconds, immediately ordering another. She then drank half of it in one gulp before finally slowing down enough to taste it again. And play with the little paper umbrella.

"You keep that up, and you'll be drunker 'n me," came a voice from her left, causing Rose to look at the person beside her for the first time. The voice had been unmistakably female, but Rose was a little surprised that she had to look up to see the woman's face, she was so large. The glamor spell Rose was using only affected her features, not her height, so she was still quite petite. That was why she felt she needed the high heels. Even so, the woman next to her was impressively big.

"Maybe that's the point?" Rose retorted, earning her a slight smirk which Rose interpreted as condescending. _As if I don't get that already from the rest of the adults in my life,_ she thought sourly. _Why can't anyone let me make my own decisions for a change? Why does everyone insist on treating me like a kid, as if my opinions didn't matter?_

"Yeah?" the woman asked, and Rose nodded once. "Well, then, here's to getting drunk," the woman said, turning slightly on her barstool and holding up her own drink. Rose hesitated for a moment, then mirrored the gesture, clinking glasses and downing the rest of her drink while the woman did the same. As she did so, she could see that the woman, who looked like she was barely old enough to drink herself, wasn't just tall, but large all over: broad shoulders, strong arms, thick chest, everything. Yet she didn't look masculine at all, even if the tight ponytail made her face a bit too severe. No, Rose thought she was quite beautiful and feminine, yet also powerful and dangerous. It was a combination she'd never encountered before, and she found herself unexpectedly attracted to the stranger.

After the way her fifth year had ended, she'd sworn that she'd never allow herself to experience such feelings again, but it appeared that her hormones were refusing to follow orders.

"Two more!" the woman called out as she plunked her glass on the bar, and their drinks were quickly replaced.

"Thanks," Rose said, but the woman waved her hand dismissively.

"Not a problem. You look like you need it as much as I do."

"Yeah, kinda," Rose said softly, then she gathered up her courage and turned back to the woman, holding out her hand. "My name's Rose — Rose Potter."

The woman smiled a bit blearily as she held out her own hand. "Nice to meet you, Rose-Rose Potter. I'm Diana Prince." Rose wasn't surprised at how strong her grip was, nor at how her own hand was practically lost in the other woman's. No, what surprised her was how warm and comfortable Diana's hand felt — so comfortable that Rose had trouble letting go.

As she sat there and drank, she kept sneaking looks at the woman, wondering what her story was — both how she came to be so obviously fit as well as why she'd want to get drunk in a Vegas bar. _It can't be as bad as what I've been going through, surely?_ she figured. It wasn't until she'd finished her third drink that she finally got up the courage to ask.

"So, uh, what are you looking to get away from? Or forget?"

Diana gave her a measuring look, and several long moments went by in silence. Rose started to fidget in her seat and began to regret asking when Diana finally seemed to come to a decision and said, "I killed a man."

That wasn't what Rose had expected to hear, and she was sure that her surprise showed on her face, but Diana didn't seem to notice as she went on. "It's not the killing that's the problem, even though I abhor death. Max needed to die for others to be saved."

"Then what's the problem?" Rose asked.

"The problem is how others have reacted, including those I saved."

"You mean, they weren't grateful?"

Diana snorted. "You'd think they would be, wouldn't you? But no, pretty much everyone turned against me — including friends I thought I knew well. Even Bat... well, Bruce, one of my closest friends. I've become a pariah, all because I made the hard choice to end the life of one evil person to save the lives of so many innocents. How does that justify people who don't even know me calling me a violent killer? Saying that I can't be trusted? Saying that maybe I'm just as bad as the villains I've been chasing down?"

Rose looked down at her drink, knowing that she should say something. As strong as Diana looked, she'd heard the woman's voice come close to cracking a couple of times.

"It's not easy, taking a life," Rose finally said.

"No, it's not," Diana agreed. "Don't get me wrong — I don't regret my decision. Not only was he going to kill others, but he was already a murderer. That doesn't mean that I don't sometimes still wish that there had been some alternative, because if there had been, I'd have taken it. Every death is a waste, even his."

"But you did what was necessary," Rose said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Diana turn slightly towards her. "You know, don't you? What it's like to kill?" Rose turned as well to face her and nodded. "What happened?"

Rose gulped, then finished her drink and called for another. "It's... it's not something I like to think about. A man attacked me. Tried to kill me, in fact, and once he was through with me he would have gone on to kill others if I hadn't done something."

"Then I'm sure you did the right thing," Diana responded as she finished her own drink. "How long ago was it?"

"I was eleven," Rose said softly.

"Great Hera!" the woman exclaimed, putting one hand on hers. "No one that young should be forced into such a situation."

"True," Rose agreed with a shrug, "but we don't always get to pick the problems fate throws at us."

"Wise words," Diana said as she sipped from her new drink. "The gods never ask our opinions when they decide to test us, or to use us to test others. I hope that _your_ friends at least stood by you."

"That time they did," Rose responded, and when Diana gave her a questioning look, Rose provided an edited version of how so many had turned against her during her second and fourth years at Hogwarts, though the necessity of leaving out everything that would point to magic or her age made it disjointed.

"That may be worse than what I'm going through," Diana admitted when Rose was done. "But at least your one friend stood by you, staying loyal no matter what everyone else said or did."

"Hermione," Rose said wistfully. "Yeah, she did..."

"But...?" Diana asked, noting the change in Rose's demeanor.

"Well, it's just that..." She trailed off, not sure how to explain recent events, or even if she should. Diana was patient though, giving her time. "In June I thought my godfather was in trouble. That he was being tortured by... by a terrorist. The same terrorist who killed my parents when I was a toddler, in fact. I went to rescue him and several friends came with me, even though I said they didn't have to."

Diana had leaned a bit closer to Rose, showing more interest in her story. "Hermione, too, I take it?"

"Yeah, she was the first to volunteer. Unfortunately, it was all a trap: my godfather wasn't there. Most of us were injured, Hermione worst of all. And on top of that, my godfather and his friends were forced to come rescue **us** , which led to my godfather getting killed."

Diana put a hand on Rose's shoulder in an effort to comfort her. "And Hermione blames you for her injuries?"

Rose shook her head and dabbed at her eyes. "No, that would be simpler." She paused to collect herself before continuing. "I was so scared when I saw her go down. She was always important to me, but it wasn't until that moment, when I thought I'd lose her, that I realized... Well, later in the hospital wing I spent a lot of time sitting by her bed, worrying about her. And when she finally woke up, I was so happy, I... I couldn't help myself."

Rose looked up at Diana, whose expression was mostly confused. Rose sighed and said, "I confessed my feelings for her. I confessed that I like her as... as much more than just a friend."

"Oh? And she..."

"And she doesn't feel the same way about me. Or girls generally."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Fortunately she doesn't hate me or anything — Hermione doesn't have a bigoted bone in her body. But things will never be the same between us now." Rose looked up at Diana, seeing the sympathy in her face. "You... you don't have a problem with that sort of thing, do you?"

Diana smiled broadly and gave Rose's shoulder a squeeze before picking up her drink again. "Not in the slightest."

"Thanks," Rose said. "I appreciate it."

The two fell into a comfortable silence again as they continued to drink, and Rose didn't notice that they were now sitting a bit closer, nor did she think about how Diana's arm brushed against her every so often. She did notice Diana's warm, friendly smile every time she looked at the woman, as well as the brightness in her eyes.

After a little while, Diana said, "I know we both came here to get drunk and forget our problems, but it occurs to me that neither of us will end up feeling better from just sitting around and drinking."

Rose looked around and slowly nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure we could find some more interesting and fun places to forget our problems," Diana continued, "if you'd like to come along?"

Rose looked at the other woman more closely now and found herself drawn to Diana's deep blue eyes — eyes that seemed to radiate kindness and warmth. She only gave Remus a moment's thought before tossing back the rest of her drink and saying, "Sounds like a great idea — let's go!"

She'd been unsteady on her heels when she walked in sober, but after four drinks she was far more unstable than she realized, and when she stood she immediately lost her balance. It was only Diana's strong arms around her that kept her from tumbling to the floor.

"Thanks," Rose mumbled. "Guess I've had a bit more than I realized."

"No problem," Diana replied, keeping one arm around her as they walked out to the street. "I'll keep you from falling."

When Rose looked up again into Diana's smiling face, she had no doubts that the raven-haired woman would keep her promise. She wasn't sure why, but she immediately felt more safe and secure than she could ever remember.

* * *

Coming to full consciousness was a slow and painful process. For the longest time, all Rose was aware of was the pounding in her head, followed closely by the sensation that her mouth was stuffed with cotton. Despite being no stranger to pain, it took her a while to fight the headache enough to focus on her situation and surroundings.

Along the way, a series of images drifted through her mind, none of which were entirely clear or coherent. There were flashes of dancing, some of it fast and some of it slow. The latter group of images seemed to be dominated by a sense of comfort and security as she was held close by someone tall and strong. There were even more flashes of drinking all manner of sweet, colored, alcoholic drinks, thus explaining the pounding in her head.

The strangest of all were images of Elvis next to a pink cake with two little white figures on top, but she chalked that up to alcohol-induced hallucinations.

Once she was finally able to focus on her surroundings, she could tell that she was in bed and naked, judging by the soft feel of a mattress under her as she lay on her left side. This good news was quickly followed by bad news: she couldn't move. She wiggled a little to try to figure out what was restraining her, only to feel her restraints tighten even further, followed by a low moan of pleasure that came from just behind her right ear.

Rose froze as her eyes shot open, and she was immediately thankful that the room was dim, because what light there was still hurt. Looking down, she confirmed that she was indeed naked, and that there were four arms and three legs in sight. Two of the arms were her own, but the other two, one of which was wrapped around her torso and the other under her head, were much too thick and muscular to be hers. The same was true of the extra leg that had been thrown over her hips, holding her own legs fast.

 _Please don't be a bloke!_ she thought frantically. _Please don't let me have slept with some bloke!_

With effort, Rose managed to free her right hand and place it over the large hand holding her breast, confirming that not only was it a female's hand, but also that the size was about the same as the hand of the woman she'd met in the bar the previous night.

 _Wait, what was her name? I can't remember her name!_

"Mmmm, you're awake early," came a familiar voice, and the warm breath against her ear caused her to shiver. When the hand at her breast started to move gently, she sucked in her breath and shivered even more. "I expected us to sleep a bit longer, considering the workout we gave each other, but I wouldn't mind a repeat of last night."

 _Repeat? That means we actually... and I'm no longer a... Cool! Except... I don't remember it! No fair!_

Rose felt a blush that started in her face and went most of the way down her body as she realized that the woman behind her was as naked as she was, and when the woman's arms and legs tightened, she became acutely aware of the large breasts pressed up against her back. Somehow, she knew that there was a tremendous amount of strength in the arms wrapped around her, enough perhaps to crush her; yet rather than endangered, she felt protected and loved.

"First, though, I need to use the bathroom," the woman said as she rolled out of bed. Rose turned in time to see her briefly as she entered the loo, and even though it was only from behind, the sight of the other woman's naked, muscular body almost caused Rose's brain to shut down completely. She shook her head to clear her mind, instantly regretting it as her headache pounded so hard she wondered if the woman could hear it through the door. Gingerly, she forced herself to sit upright.

Clutching at her head in a vain effort to stave off the pain, Rose looked around, pleased to see that it was her own bedroom in the hotel suite that Remus had rented, then noted the way clothing had been tossed everywhere and that none of the furniture was where it was supposed to be. Some of it was even overturned. Someone's knickers were hanging from a blade of the slowly-spinning ceiling fan — and come to think of it, she was pretty sure she didn't own any red, white, and blue thongs. As she ran her left hand through her red hair to pull it away from her face, she felt something catch, and upon disentangling it she discovered a strange ring on her finger. It was a gold band covered with intricate runes and had a smooth, black stone at the top.

"What the hell is this?" she asked softly as she held it close to her eyes, not noticing the exclamation of, "What the hell is this?" that came from the loo. As she looked at the ring, a distant memory from the previous Christmas started to form. Sirius was showing her some of the treasures of his family, including family rings. Among them were the Black family's magical wedding rings, which her current ring looked awfully similar to.

Before she could follow that line of thought any further, the bathroom door banged open, pulling Rose's attention away from her hand. This time her brain did shut down as she gazed upon the tall, muscular, and very naked body of what she could only describe as a goddess standing there, one hand in the air and the other on her hip. The goddess was speaking, and seemed to be annoyed about something, but all Rose could do was stare.

She might have drooled a little, too — not that she would have ever admitted it to anyone.

Eventually, the goddess in the doorway got tired of seemingly being ignored and walked closer to Rose, which only made the younger girl's reaction worse. It took another minute of this for the goddess to notice the glazed-over eyes and finally realize what the problem was. She huffed as she pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself before snapping her fingers in front of the dazed redhead.

"Huh?" Rose asked, blinking hard and trying to figure out what was going on.

The woman rolled her eyes and held out her left hand. "Do you have any idea what this is or where it came from? I can't get it off! And believe me, I tried."

"Oh?" Rose asked again, looking down at the hand and seeing the ring. A very familiar ring. "Ooohh..." Rose said in a low voice as she lifted her own hand to compare. As expected, they matched.

The woman bent down to get a better look and frowned. "How do you have one, too? I don't remember seeing you wearing it last night."

"You'd remember something like that?"

"I honestly don't remember much about last night, at least not until we got back here. What happened then, I'll **never** forget!" the woman said with a self-satisfied grin; yet it faded almost immediately. "But I know I checked your hand before we left that first bar, just to be sure you weren't married or engaged. I don't go dancing and drinking with just anyone, never mind go to bed with them afterwards."

"Married!"

"Yeah," she replied, frowning again as she played with her ring. "These look a little more like engagement rings, come to think of it, though they're not like any I've ever seen."

"They're not," Rose whispered, trying to quell the sudden panic over what she feared she'd gotten herself into.

"What?"

"They're not engagement rings. They're family wedding rings."

"What family?"

"The Black family. Sirius Black, my godfather, named me his heir. Technically, my name is Rose Potter-Black."

"That explains why you're wearing one — you must have taken it off before coming to the bar," the woman said, looking a little angry as she started tugging on her ring. "I don't appreciate being used to cheat on your fiancée or husband, by the way. But why do I have one? And why can't I get it off?"

Rose looked up at her and shook her head. "They can only be worn by married members of the Black family."

"Married?" the woman asked, clearly confused. "I'm... I'm not married! And I'm certainly not married to anyone in the Black family!"

Rose stood up from the bed, heedless of her nudity, and started desperately searching for something that would help explain their predicament. Over on the dresser, underneath her bra, she found several pieces of paper — including a piece of heavy parchment with the words "Marriage Certificate" in big, bold letters across the top.

 _Diana?_ Rose read as her heart skipped several beats. _Now I know her name, at least._

"Suffering Sappho!" a pale Diana said when Rose handed her the certificate while she focused on a flyer from someplace called "Elvis' Magical Wedding Emporium and Espresso Bar."

"This can't be genuine," Diana insisted. "Two women can't marry — it's illegal!"

"I think these are the people who did the ceremony," Rose responded, handing over the flyer. "Maybe they can explain?"

"They'd better be able to explain!" Diana growled as she started hunting for her clothes and tossing Rose's to her. As she got dressed, it dawned on Rose that they presumably wouldn't be having that promised repeat of the previous night's activities now — and judging by Diana's attitude, they probably never would, which meant she might never learn what her first time had been like.

 _Typical Potter luck_ , she lamented as she put on her bra. _My first time was with an insanely beautiful goddess, and I can't remember even the tiniest bit of it! And how in Merlin's name can I be married? Married! It's just not possible!_

* * *

By the time she was dressed, Diana had calmed enough to try calling the place first rather than storming over there and throwing people through walls. "The last thing I need right now is for my temper to get me into trouble here," she muttered as she dialed the number, while Rose leaned her head against Diana's so they could both listen.

A woman answered, her voice occasionally punctuated by the sound of her gum cracking as she spoke around it. "Hello, Elvis' Magical Wedding Emporium and Espresso Bar, can I help you?"

"Uh, hi, are you open right now?" Diana asked the woman.

"Sure thing, hon, we're open twenty-four hours a day! But I'm afraid we're pretty booked for the rest of the morning..."

"No, no, I don't want to make an appointment, I, um, it seems that I was already there last night..."

"Well, congratulations! No refunds, though — all weddings are final."

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Is the person who was performing weddings last night still there, by any chance?"

"Sure, hon, just a minute."

After a lengthy pause, a deep, resonant male voice came on the phone. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, it seems that I was there for a wedding last night, but... well, to be perfectly honest, I don't remember it."

The man chuckled lightly. "You're not the first, ma'am. I suppose you'd like some of the missing details?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, yes."

"Not a problem. What's your name?" he asked.

"Diana Prince."

"Hm, let me see here. It was a pretty busy night for us." They could hear him flipping through papers. "Prince... Prince... no, I'm sorry, there's no Prince wedding here. Are you sure you have the right place? Maybe it was a different chapel?"

The two women heaved a sigh of relief. "No, I doubt it — your flyer was here with the alleged marriage certificate."

"It must have been a prank my adopted uncle played on us," Rose interjected.

"Exactly," Diana agreed, smiling in relief. "I knew it couldn't be real. There's no way you'd marry two women."

"Women?" the man asked. "Oh, you mean the Potter-Black wedding? Why didn't you say so? Yes, I did that last night — I remember you now."

"But... but..." Diana stammered.

"Yes, right here," the man continued. "Rose Potter-Black and Diana Potter-Black née Prince. Sorry, I was looking for the married names before. What is it that you need to know?"

"It's illegal for two women to get married!" Diana protested.

"In the mundane world, sure, but this is a magical wedding emporium. Our name lets people know that we handle magical weddings too, and same-sex marriage has been legal in magical North America for quite a long time."

"Magical?" Diana asked.

"That's right, we've got all the magical paperwork here," he answered. "We got drops of blood from both of you, proving that you were authorized for a magical marriage. Heh, we needed three drops from each of you, your blood alcohol levels were so high — no wonder you can't remember! Then we got another three to get the requisite blood for the binding marriage certificate."

Both women looked down at the document Rose was holding, finally realizing what the two reddish-brown spots were.

"We also have a copy of the signed permission form from Rose Potter-Black's magical guardian."

"Guardian?" Diana asked sharply while Rose winced.

"Yep, let's see... here it is. It says, 'I, Sirius Black, hereby give my amazing goddaughter, Rose Potter-Black, permission to do whatever the hell she wants, because I'm such a devilishly awesome godfather and she bloody well deserves it. And if some meddling old coot with an overly large nose tries to stop her, hex him in the bollocks for me.' I have to admit, it's a little unorthodox for a guardian's permission form, but the magic checked out, so we were legally obliged to accept it."

"Sweet Merlin!" Rose exclaimed, suddenly remembering the note Remus had found among the gold Sirius had left for them. This whole trip had been his idea, even before the fiasco at the Ministry...

"You also signed the waiver acknowledging that once you consummate your marriage, it's impossible to get an annulment, and divorce isn't possible for at least three years."

"That's... interesting," Diana said. "Thank you. Thank you very much." She then hung up and fixed Rose with a hard stare. "Guardian?" she said again. "How old _are_ you?"

Rose sighed and ejected her wand from its invisible wrist holster, then cast _Finite!_ at her face. She couldn't feel it, but she knew that various small lines disappeared, her cheeks filled out, her red hair lengthened, and a dozen other little things changed that returned her to looking like a teenager. When she and Remus had arrived, they'd been informed that anyone over fifteen was allowed to perform magic, just so long as it wasn't in front of non-magicals. She'd originally assumed that Diana was a muggle when they met at the bar, but if she was authorized to have a magical wedding, that must have meant that she was authorized to see magic performed.

"How old?" Diana asked again, looking more than a bit horrified.

"I just turned sixteen," Rose said a little defensively as she crossed her arms. "I'm not _that_ young. I'm not a child!"

"Merciful Minerva!" Diana exclaimed as she got up off the bed and started pacing back and forth. "Sixteen! Back home on Themyscira that wouldn't be a big problem, but here in America..."

"How old are _you?"_ Rose demanded.

"I'm twenty."

"So not that much older than me!" Rose said, torn between thinking it cool that she'd been with someone older and more experienced, and upset that not only was she married, she was married to someone _old_.

"That's not the point!" Diana complained. "You're a minor!" She stopped at that, then sat heavily back on the bed and put her head in her hands. "Artemis shield me! Forget about the marriage, we had sex last night! Multiple times! For hours! I'll be thrown in jail!"

Once again, Rose was confronted with the fact that something amazing had happened the night before — something that she couldn't remember a minute of. Annoyed, but feeling like she needed to do something, she scooted over next to Diana and put her arm around the older woman's shoulder. She couldn't reach all the way across, her shoulders were so broad, and Rose wondered again at how this woman had gotten to be so fit.

"Somehow, I think that if that were an issue, it wouldn't have been possible for us to get married in the first place," Rose said. "I don't know what the muggle laws are, but apparently magical laws allow for sixteen-year-olds to marry twenty-one year olds. Even when they're blind drunk."

Diana lifted her head from her hands and looked at Rose, blinking hard several times. "What is that, 'muggle'? And what do you know about magic?"

"Muggles are people who don't have magic," Rose explained. "At least, that's the term used in Britain. I guess you use a different term here. And magic... well, it's magic. Like, y'know, with a wand?" She pulled out her wand again and waved it in the air, creating multi-colored sparks.

"You cast magic... through a stick?"

"It's a wand," Rose corrected, frowning. "All witches and wizards in Britain use them. Don't you?"

Diana stiffened and seemed to pull back slightly. "You're a witch?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "It's not like in the cartoons or movies. Well, not exactly. I do have a cauldron. And a pointy hat, come to think of it. And... I do fly on a broomstick. ...OK, I guess it _is_ like the cartoons, but I don't cackle! And I don't have warts, either. Really, it's just that every magical female is called a witch, and every magical male is called a wizard."

"Sorry," Diana replied, visibly relaxing. "It's just that... I know someone who is considered a witch. Circe is her name, and she's caused so many problems. So much pain and suffering. She believes she needs to kill me in order to prevent me from killing her, even though I honestly don't wish her dead."

"Yeah, I know what _that's_ like," Rose muttered. "I can assure you, I'm nothing like that."

Diana nodded. "So, do all witches and wizards use wooden sticks... er, I mean, wands?"

"Powerful witches and wizards can do a few spells wandlessly, but otherwise, yeah. You don't?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then how do you cast magic?"

"I don't," Diana admitted. "One of my friends, Zatanna, does, but she doesn't use a wand. And she doesn't call herself a witch. I've never seen Circe use one, either."

"Then... are you a squib?" When Diana looked at her questioningly, she clarified, "A squib is a non-magical person born to magical parents."

"No. I'm nothing at all like that." Sighing, she stood up, stepped back away from the bed, and put her arms straight out before launching into a spin. Rose was briefly blinded by a flash of light, and when she could see again, Diana Prince was gone. In her place was an even more gorgeous woman wearing what looked like leather and bronze armor which was... incredibly form fitting. And revealing, which didn't seem to Rose to be quite appropriate for armor, but she was much too entranced by the sight to object. The woman also wore large, metal bracers with swords etched into them and a gold tiara on her head, and there was a golden rope hanging from her waist.

"Diana?" Rose asked, and when the woman nodded, she added, "You look great — amazing, even — but it's a strange outfit. And what does it have to do with magic?"

Diana frowned at the unexpected reaction. "You mean, you don't recognize me?" Rose shook her head. "Huh," Diana said before sitting down again. "That's surprising. But... kind of nice, actually."

"Should I recognize you?" Rose asked before she was distracted by the sight of Diana's ample cleavage.

"I go by the name of Wonder Woman," Diana explained. "I'm an Amazon warrior who was sent by my people as an emissary to help teach the world about our ideals — love, peace, justice, and equality. I'm pretty famous all across the world, to be honest, which is why I'm surprised that you don't recognize me."

"Amazon, huh?" Rose said softly. "That would, uh, explain how buff you are."

Diana turned slightly to look at the distracted girl. "You like strong women, I take it?"

"I've, uh, never seen anyone like you before," Rose said, licking her lips. "But yeah, I sure do."

Diana put a finger under Rose's chin and gently lifted her head. "My eyes are up here."

Rose was immediately lost in the woman's deep blue eyes. "Yeah, they sure are."

Diana sighed and shook her head. "You need to focus."

"Sorry," Rose said, blushing. "You're just... well, you're pretty fantastic. After Hermione rejected me, I was sure that I'd never find someone that I could be with romantically. I mean, one of the things that attracted me to Hermione, aside from her being pretty and smart and all, was the fact that she treated me like a regular person. She accepted me as just plain Rose."

"Why would that be an issue?"

Rose sighed, then lifted her bangs to reveal the scar on her forehead. "It has to do with this, and the fact that I'm known as the Girl Who Lived. I'm pretty famous too, but I'm famous in a small, closed community of witches and wizards." Rose then proceeded to give Diana a more complete overview of her life than she had the night before, starting with the murder of her parents and ending with the fight in the Department of Mysteries, not long before her pseudo-uncle Remus came to her with a bag of money and a letter from her godfather, telling the two of them to get away from Britain for a vacation.

By the end, Diana was holding the younger girl close. "There are a lot of things in that story of yours that don't make sense," she said when Rose was calm again. She quickly held up one hand to forestall Rose's protest. "I don't mean that I don't believe you. Quite the opposite, in fact — I completely trust you."

Rose lifted her left hand and touched the ring. "I wonder if it's because of these? Sirius told me there were all sorts of special enchantments on them to help the married couple be closer, but I can't remember the details."

Diana frowned, looking at her own ring. "We do need to find out more — those details could be important. But no, I trust you because I can tell when people try to lie to me. What I meant when I said that things in your story don't make sense is that some of the things that happened to you strike me as suspicious. I think you've been without real help or support for far too long."

"Yeah, no one has cared much about what happens to me," Rose admitted as she stared at her lap. "Only Hermione cares, and she hasn't been able to do much for me."

Diana reached out with both hands and cupped Rose's cheeks, forcing the younger girl to meet her gaze. "Well, now you have me," Diana said. "I shall return with you to your world and aid you against your foes." For a moment, her voice took on a depth and resonance that hadn't been there before.

"But... why? What about your job here?"

Diana sighed and leaned back, looking away. "I... I'm not sure about my mission here anymore." She turned back to look Rose in the eye and asked, "You remember that I said I killed someone?" Rose nodded. "Well, he was someone whom everyone trusted, but his heart was as black as pitch. He insinuated himself into the lives of heroes like me because he wanted to destroy us, claiming that because of our powers, we are a threat to the rest of humanity. He almost succeeded."

"How?" Rose whispered.

"His most recent plot involved taking control of the mind of Superman." When Rose simply looked at her in confusion, Diana shook her head ruefully. "It's easy to forget how little you know of us. Suffice it to say that Superman is the single most powerful man on the planet, perhaps only a little more powerful than me, if that. Under Lord's control, he nearly beat to death Batman, our closest friend and a leader among us heroes. Then the two of us fought, but I was at a disadvantage because I didn't want to seriously hurt him; he, in contrast, was fighting to kill."

"Oh, no!" Rose gasped, reaching out to take Diana's hand.

"He injured me, but I managed to create a diversion long enough to get to Lord to interrogate him. I can force people to tell the truth, and when I asked him how to free Superman, he had but one answer: 'Kill me.'"

"That was the choice you had to make?"

"Superman was nearly upon me by that point, so I had mere seconds to choose between killing Max Lord, trying to kill Superman, or letting Superman kill me so he could then start killing the rest of the earth's heroes. With me gone, the others wouldn't have stood much of a chance, even working together. That's how powerful Superman is."

"I'll bet he would have moved on to witches and wizards next, if he found out about them," Rose observed.

Diana looked thoughtful for a moment. "You're probably right. He seemed to fear and hate anyone with more power than him. Regardless, I made my choice. I didn't know that he was broadcasting the fight to the entire world, not that that would have changed anything. So everyone watched me kill — not a mighty opponent in the heat of battle, but a bound, unarmed man in cold blood."

"And your friends turned their backs on you?"

"Yes, even though it should have been clear that I saved their lives as well as the lives of countless others," Diana said. "Superman and Batman believe that there are always alternatives to killing." She stopped for a moment, and Rose could see that she was struggling with what she wanted to say. "I respect them both, not just for their skills and courage, but for their moral characters. I respect their refusal to kill, and their insistence on trying to bring in criminals alive so they can be rehabilitated. It's what I was raised to do as well. However..."

When she trailed off, Rose continued the thought: "However, sometimes killing is the only viable option." Diana looked her in the eye for a long moment before nodding. Rose went on, "I said that I killed when I was eleven, but I didn't do it intentionally. I didn't even fully realize what I'd done until months later." She paused as she tried to gather strength for what she needed to explain. "So I've never deliberately killed, but I don't have that luxury anymore."

"Why?" Diana asked as she tried to shift a little closer.

"When I told you about the fight in the Ministry, I told you that the prophecy sphere broke. What I didn't say was that it smashed to the floor of the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. With Voldemort, the Minister of Magic, and a whole slew of aurors, reporters, and Ministry employees watching."

"And after such a horrible year, too?" Diana exclaimed, and Rose nodded. "What did the prophecy say?"

Rose closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift back to that night in the atrium, and recited the words that had been seared into her mind: _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but they will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

"So, it's you or him. No wonder you said you understood my problems with Circe," Diana concluded. "Only you can stop Voldemort, but if you don't, he kills you and takes over your world."

"And then the rest of the world, too, I suspect."

Diana nodded. "Such people are rarely satisfied with just a little power. Like Maxwell Lord, they always reach out for more and more, caring nothing for those they hurt or kill in the process."

"What's worse, everyone knows it, too," Rose said. "It's bad enough that Voldemort knows, but now everyone in wizarding Britain is looking to me to be their savior. I'm only sixteen... well, I was only fifteen when this happened, but that didn't matter. Lots of people back home are calling to have me pushed out into battle, regardless of how little training and education I've gotten so far. That's one reason why I agreed to this vacation in America: I just had to get away, even if only for a little while."

"How can they place such demands on someone so young!"

Rose shrugged. "A lot of them seem to regard the prophecy as permission to not do anything themselves. They say it's my job, and my job alone. I'm expected to kill and to win — to deliver peace and safety to everyone else, no matter what it costs me." Rose was silent for a few moments before sighing deeply and saying, "I don't know how I'm going to do it. Sometimes, I'm not even sure I want to bother."

"Well, you won't have to do it alone," Diana said as she put her arm around Rose's shoulders and pulled her close. "When you decide to return, I will be with you, right by your side."

"Really?" Rose asked, her voice betraying how hard it was for her to believe that.

"Really."

"But... why?" In her experience, it was only her friends — people her own age — who'd ever followed her lead, who'd gone along with her decisions. Adults only ever tried to push her down paths of their own choosing, often without bothering to explain themselves.

"I told you that my closest friends, as well as the public, have turned their backs on me. One of the reasons I was in that bar last night, aside from just feeling sorry for myself, was that I was trying to decide what to do next. I can't easily continue my mission as I have been because the people no longer trust me, but I also didn't want to return to my home in disgrace. Helping you, though, will let me continue my mission, albeit on a smaller scale." Diana watched as Rose thought about that, then added with a slight smile, "Besides, I can hardly let my new wife march off into battle by herself, now can I?"

"Wife? I mean, sure, technically we are married, but... but do you really think of me that way? You hardly know me, and you can't be happy about being stuck married to me. I am just a kid, compared to you, and I'm not exactly a great catch. I'm too skinny, I hardly have any hips, my chest is practically flat (especially compared to yours), I... I..."

Diana smiled reassuringly and reached out with her free hand to gently stroke Rose's hair, calming the girl down. "I wouldn't have walked out of that bar with you if I hadn't felt a reasonably strong attraction to you. I wouldn't have made love to you all night if I weren't expecting or at least hoping to start a long-term relationship of some sort with you. Amazons don't simply jump into bed with strangers for casual sex, no matter how good it is. The age difference is a surprise, but Amazon warriors come of age at sixteen, so it's not a deal breaker for me. And as for the marriage... while I can't remember it, I know I wouldn't have agreed to it if I didn't have strong feelings for you and weren't serious about our relationship. We Amazons do not treat marriage casually."

Rose's expression shifted from hopeful to happy, then it slowly slid to disappointment.

"What's wrong?" Diana asked, confused.

"About the sex," Rose said. "You've mentioned more than once that last night was good."

"Mind-blowing," Diana corrected. "Never in my wildest fantasies did I imagine that it was possible for a woman's tongue to do such things. I didn't realize at the time that you were magical. Why? Wasn't last night great for you?"

"I have no idea!" Rose exclaimed, close to tears. "I can't remember it! Any of it! And it was my first time, too!"

Diana's eyes widened in surprise before she chuckled. "Well, that just means that we'll have to make some new memories. And in the process, maybe I'll manage to remind you of a couple of things." Rose's breath caught as Diana leaned in to kiss her, but just before their lips could meet they were interrupted by a loud buzzing from Rose's shirt pocket.

"What is that?" Diana asked.

Rose yanked out a small mirror and said, "Oh, shite, it's Sirius! He's going to kill me when he finds out about this! Or prank me. Or both," before suddenly running for the bathroom.

"Sirius? ...Um, isn't he supposed to be dead?" Diana called after her as the door slammed shut.


	4. Unititled HP-Stargate Crossover

**Untitled HP/Stargate Crossover**

 **Summary:** After defeating Voldemort, Andromeda Potter left wizarding Britain to pursue curse-breaking and archaeology. A previously unrecognized script in Egyptian tombs leads her to treasure left by Merlin and knowledge that humanity is not alone in the galaxy, prompting her to further isolate herself as she plans to reclaim the legacy of the Alterans. Then SG-1 comes to visit.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Stargate

 **Pairing:** Andromeda Potter/Samantha Carter

 **A/N:** I'm a fan of _Stargate_ , and there's a lot of potential in this story, but I wouldn't want to just start rehashing _Stargate_ canon with the addition of a witch as part of the show. I need an end goal for Andromeda to be striving for — something that disrupts the Stargate plot. Trying to get to Atlantis is an obvious choice, but... why? What's her motive? Create a colony of magicals who are the descendants of the Alterans? Then what will disrupt _her_ plans — another Goa'uld attack, forcing her to bring Atlantis to our galaxy instead of continuing to run like she's been doing for so long? I'm not sure, and until I have some answers, I don't have a coherent, focused story.

Thanks to Mainsail for plot feedback, and to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own _Stargate_ , MGM does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Introductions**

"Yes?" I asked as I opened the door, seeing three strangers standing on my front porch. It was extremely rare that anyone ever came to my door, and these three didn't look like solicitors, especially since they were all dressed rather casually. It had been months since I'd spoken more than two words to another human being, and I'd been happy that I'd been left in peace to work for so long. Hopefully these three would be interesting enough to justify the intrusion on my privacy.

"Miss Potter?" the lone woman asked, forcing me to focus on her. "Miss Andromeda Lily Potter?" I was struck by how cute she was, though I wasn't sure if that was because she really was exceptionally cute or because I'd simply gone so long without human contact. Isolating myself like I'd done did have some drawbacks.

"Yes," I replied, smiling a little as I continued to look at her.

"We'd like to talk to you about your research — specifically, your proposal that a common, heretofore unknown language can be found on ancient sites located all around the world, sites created by civilizations that had no contact with each other."

My smile quickly turned to a frown. "That was a long time ago."

"Not so long, just five years," said the taller man behind her. Even though it didn't reach his face or his voice, there was a sneer behind his words that was all too familiar.

I tried hard to ignore it. "Still, it's not something I've continued to pursue."

"The mainstream academic community wasn't receptive to your views," the second man said. "But do you still stand by your original claims?"

I sighed deeply, figuring that I knew where this was going. It wasn't the first time I'd been approached by conspiracy theorists or publishers of crypto-archaeological materials, but it had been a while since any had managed to track me down. Early on, when I'd been pursuing my discovery that something like parseltongue had been inscribed on stones at ancient sites all over the world, I welcomed any sort of support I could get. Later, much too late, I realized how much their enthusiastic support had ultimately harmed me.

I'd been blinded by my positive experiences with the _Quibbler_ and paid a heavy price for it, but given what happened afterwards, I couldn't bring myself to regret it. Not really. Regardless of how much I'd lost. I clung to the hope that once my quest was complete, it would all be worth it. Maybe someday, someone would forgive me.

I certainly wasn't ever going to be able to forgive myself.

"Look," I finally said, "I haven't repudiated anything I've written, but I'm not interested in talking about it anymore. If you actually have access to any of my old papers, I can't stop you from using them, but I'm not going to provide any quotes or new material for publication or broadcast. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm quite busy..."

I tried closing the door, but the cute blonde grabbed it. "No, wait, please, I think you misunderstand us. We're not from any sort of magazine or TV show," she said quickly as she pulled out a plastic ID card. "I'm Captain Samantha Carter, U.S. Air Force. This is Colonel Jack O'Neill, also U.S. Air Force, and this is Dr. Daniel Jackson."

I raised one eyebrow and stopped trying to close the door. Jackson's name I recognized immediately, and Carter's name sounded oddly familiar, though I couldn't figure out why. "Air Force?" I asked. "What would the military want with me? Or my old research?"

"Perhaps we could talk about that inside, ma'am?" O'Neill suggested. There was still something about him that I didn't like, but I could also tell now that he was in charge — and he didn't seem like the sort who would readily take "no" for an answer.

"Alright," I responded, opening the door wider. "Come on in." After serving tea in the living room, I said, "I always wondered what happened to you, Dr. Jackson. Oh, yes, I recognize your name. How could I not, given the sort of research I was doing? I worried that you had descended into complete obscurity, teaching history in a high school somewhere, perhaps. I must admit that I never would have expected you to join the military."

"No, no, I'm not in the Air Force," he protested.

"He's a civilian consultant," Carter explained.

"Consultant?" I said as I took a sip of tea. "What sort of consulting could a discredited Egyptologist possibly do for the U.S. Air Force?" I paused for a moment, then added, "Uh, no offense intended. I mean, I'm one too, after all."

"That's classified, I'm afraid," O'Neill said while Jackson smiled thinly and waved my apology off.

"Yet it has to be related to why you're here," I replied with a frown, looking back and forth between Jackson and O'Neill as they shifted somewhat nervously in the chairs across from me. "So it can't be all that classified, otherwise you wouldn't be able to talk to me. You'll have to tell me something, otherwise this will be a rather pointless meeting."

"That remains to be seen," O'Neill said. "Show her, Daniel."

Jackson opened up his satchel and pulled out several large black and white photographs, handing them to me across the coffee table. I recognized the script which I'd deduced was a written form of some dialect of parseltongue, but which mainstream archaeologists had always dismissed as little more than random, decorative lines. Then my eyes widened slightly when I realized that the parselscript was surrounding Egyptian hieroglyphics — but not a set of hieroglyphics I'd ever seen before.

This was something new, unseen by anyone else, as far as I could tell.

"What do you make of this?" Jackson asked.

"Well, it's definitely the same sort of thing I researched, but I don't recognize it — and I thought that I'd examined every example of this script to come out of Egypt," I said as I flipped through the photos. "Where did you get these images? Where was this found? Is it a new site, or recently discovered chambers in an old site? It looks... archaic, even more so than most of the hieroglyphics I've seen associated with this script."

"That's classified," O'Neill said in a tone of voice that seemed to brook no argument. I raised one eyebrow as I looked at him, but he held my gaze easily.

"Can you tell us anything about it?" Carter asked, drawing my attention to where she sat next to me on my right. Once again I wondered why her name was so familiar, but I was sure that I'd never seen her face before. If I had, I'd definitely remember it. "The papers of yours that we were able to track down never included anything about you being able to translate the script, but several things you did write seemed to suggest that you might be able to. We're hoping that's the case, and that you'll be able to tell us what, if anything, the script in these photos says."

I leaned back in the sofa and gave the captain a long, appraising look. She was right: I had always avoided claiming that I knew what the script said. I never wanted to appear to be even more of a kook than everyone already thought I was, but I couldn't avoid hinting at it, no matter how hard I tried to divert attention away from the matter. For her to be able to figure that out from my now-obscure academic writings meant that she was very smart indeed...

My eyes lit up in recognition as I shifted forward in my seat and turned slightly so I could face her. "Samantha Carter!" I exclaimed, drawing confused looks from the three visitors. "You wrote a paper about two years ago on the theoretical possibilities of stabilizing the event horizon of a wormhole in order to better study the phenomenon!"

"Oh, uh, yes," she said, her expression shifting from confusion to surprise. The other two continued to look confused.

"And a couple of years before that, wasn't there a paper on the space/time warping properties of wormholes, especially with regards to the possibility of transmitting information through them? And whether that information would actually remain in phase with the space and time of its point of origin?"

"Yes, that was me," Carter admitted. "But I didn't think that one got published anywhere."

I smiled knowingly as I leaned back again. It hadn't been published, but someone else had referenced it, and I managed to get hold of a copy. I'd been keeping an eye on everything related to wormholes because Hermione had once theorized that apparition might be a form of wormhole travel, and the idea fascinated both of us. After meeting the holographic Merlin beneath Glastonbury and learning about the Astria Portas, my interest had skyrocketed. I devoured everything I could find on the subject, even if I couldn't understand it all, and my enthusiasm was only tempered by the knowledge that Hermione would have understood and been even more excited.

That was someplace I simply couldn't afford to let my mind go, though.

For some reason, a lot less published research on that topic had been coming out of the cutting-edge labs recently (or at least the government-funded ones, which was pretty much all of them), and I'd been wondering why. Maybe now I'd be able to learn more.

"You haven't published anything on the subject in the past couple of years," I replied, ignoring her implied question. "Why is that?"

"I've, uh, been pursuing other interests," she responded, and I didn't need to use Legilimency to recognize that there was a lot more going on than she was admitting. This visit was getting more and more interesting.

"Pity," I said, as I kept my focus on her. "I found your ideas to be both original and inspiring."

"Really?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised and flattered. "You know, I never would have expected an Egyptologist to even care about that subject, much less seek out technical papers on it."

"Or understand them," O'Neill muttered.

"Oh, I'm an unusual girl," I said with a smile. "I'll admit that I didn't understand it all at first, but I've gotten better." I made a point of looking directly into her eyes — I'd thought her cute when I first saw her, but now that I knew who she was and how smart she was, she was becoming _far_ more interesting.

"Look, do you understand the squiggles or not?" O'Neill demanded, causing Carter to jerk slightly and pull away from my gaze.

I frowned as I looked back at the colonel, annoyed at having been interrupted. "Maybe, maybe not," I responded. "Why do you want to know?"

"That's class—" O'Neill tried to say, but I interrupted him.

"Classified — yeah, yeah, so I heard. You're not giving me much reason to cooperate here. For years I was derided by pretty much the entire field of professional archaeology, made out to be a laughingstock, and was even physically removed from more than one conference. Now you want me to talk about the same research that caused all of that? And for what?" I tossed the photos back onto the coffee table in front of Jackson and O'Neill and crossed my arms. "If you want me to open up about something that has the potential to cause me a lot of grief, you're going to have to give me a good reason."

"You know, Jack, she's got a point," Jackson tried to say.

"Bah, she doesn't have anything," O'Neill declared, practically radiating hostility as he stood. "Let's go, we have real work to do." I couldn't help but be a little disappointed as Jackson and Carter stood to follow; as much as I disliked O'Neill, I would have liked a chance to talk more to the others. Especially Carter.

O'Neill and Jackson were closest to the front door and reached it first as I hastily scribbled on a piece of paper. "Thanks for the tea, ma'am," O'Neill called back without looking at me, his tone of voice making it clear that the courtesy was strictly perfunctory.

"It was a real pleasure to meet you," I said to Carter, holding out my hand. She took it automatically, and I grabbed hers with both of mine, pressing the slip of paper into her palm. "That's my phone number," I whispered.

"We already have your number and address," she replied with a frown.

"I'm sure the _government_ does," I said, smiling. "But this is for _you_. Call me sometime. We can, you know, talk." Her eyes widened slightly as I squeezed her hand then quickly let go. She went out the door, seemingly moving on autopilot.

"Did she have anything more to say?" I heard O'Neill ask her as I closed my door.

"No, sir, just thanking me," was Carter's response, and I smiled more broadly as a tiny bubble of hope formed in my chest.

Sadly, the bubble would have to wait quite a while before having the chance to grow.

* * *

"So, what do you think?" the holographic image of Merlin asked, only appearing from my concealed wrist device after I was back in the living room and had collapsed onto the sofa. I couldn't believe that I had actually given her my number. Me! I'd never been that forward before — not that I'd ever had much opportunity for such behavior, but still. I never seek contact with anyone. I had no idea where that had come from, and I was practically shaking, probably from some combination of nervousness and adrenaline. What if she didn't call? What if she _did_ call?

"Andromeda!"

"What?" I asked, jumping slightly.

"If you're done mooning over that young woman, we need to talk about what just happened."

"I'm not mooning!" I protested. "I just... I'm just surprised at myself."

"So was I, quite frankly. And stop pouting — it doesn't suit you." Merlin said. I glared at him. "That's better," he continued with a satisfied nod. "For the last five years you've hardly talked to anyone besides me, and according to you, you didn't have much more of a social life before you found me at Glastonbury. At least, not since Hogwarts."

"No, I've never been as smooth or confident as I wanted to be in my head," I admitted. "And even in Hogwarts, I didn't have a very large circle of friends. Then, after what happened to them... well, you know how I am these days."

"So how did you manage to do what you did? And why?" he asked. "I long ago gave up trying to convince you to socialize with your fellow humans — any of them, magical or non-magical. What made you suddenly change your mind today?"

I shrugged. "I... I didn't stop to think about it. They were leaving, I suddenly felt bad about losing their company — especially hers — and so... I just acted. She's... interesting. And cute. I'd like to get to know her better. I know it's a huge risk, but... there's just something about her." I gently put my hand on my stomach, frowning at the odd, fluttering sensation I'd long thought I'd never have to deal with again.

"Perhaps you should eschew over-thinking such things in the future as well," Merlin suggested, and I nodded. It was probably good advice, but I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to follow it. Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous, but I had enough trouble approaching someone just for casual conversation, let alone with the hope of something more. There was a good reason why I hadn't had a date since the Yule Ball, and even then, Neville and I had only gone together as friends.

But that was another place I couldn't afford to let my mind go.

"Now," Merlin continued, forcing me to concentrate on the present again, "What are your thoughts about what they said?"

"They've found something," I answered after a moment of consideration.

"Obviously, but what?"

I poured myself another cup of tea while I pondered exactly that. "Something important," I mused. "They don't send out full colonels for trivial issues. And there's only one thing that would bring together an expert on wormholes, a high-ranking military officer, and a Egyptologist who was discredited because of his theory that aliens visited Earth in the ancient past."

"Something related to the Astria Porta," Merlin said, and I nodded in agreement. "Maybe you shouldn't have been so quick to send them away? It's unlikely that you'll ever come up with working addresses to type into the control stand on your own, but they may have resources that would help. Who knows, they might even have addresses that they got from an archaeological site you never visited, but don't know what to do with them. Maybe they're hoping that the script translates into information about the addresses?"

"They'd be awfully disappointed if they knew the truth," I replied. "Whoever or whatever used that parselscript may have been intelligent enough to figure out how to use your Astria Porta and look really impressive to the local humans, but they never seemed to have anything very interesting to write down — just self-aggrandizing twaddle and threats against this or that rival."

"True, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't be worthwhile to compare notes," Merlin insisted. "Who knows what you might be able to learn from them?"

"I'm not sure that I'd be willing to risk having to hand over control of the Astria Porta to the U.S. government — I need it too badly," I pointed out. "I didn't get any sense that they were in a mood to share. They wanted to know what I could give them, and that was all. If they do have addresses... well, at least I have the Astria Porta. If they had both, that would undermine all of my plans." I shuddered. "It would mean that all I've been through would be for nothing.

"Do you think they'll come back?" Merlin asked. "Or maybe one of them in particular?"

I smiled at him. "One in particular would be nice, I'll admit, but what they wanted was important enough to come here once, so they may try again. If they do, I'll gauge how desperate they are. Maybe I'll dangle something interesting in front of them to see what they'll give up."

"I'm curious — what did the script that they showed you say?"

"Something about Ra's final revenge against some rival named Tau'ri, whoever that is. Nothing important."

* * *

 _Five Months Later..._

"Andromeda, wake up!"

"What? What?" I cried, shooting upright in my bed and blinking hard at Merlin's holographic image. "Why are you waking me up like this?"

"The Astria Porta has been activated!" Merlin said. "We need to get there, quickly."

I shook my head and tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes. Antarctica was a long way to apparate, and I'd surely splinch myself if I wasn't fully awake and focused. "It was found? It couldn't have been found, my wards are too good! And besides, _I'd_ get the warning if anyone attacked or breached my wards, not you."

"No, it was activated from the outside," Merlin explained. "Something has come through."

"That can't be good," I said as I got out of bed and started getting dressed. After a moment's hesitation, I decided to dress for a fight, just in case. That facility was even more important than the storage under Stonehenge. It housed the Astria Porta, a control chair, drones, and an important computer core, not to mention copies of all my research on how to make the Astria Porta useable. "How do you even know this?" I asked as I pulled out the basilisk-hide pants and shirt.

"There was already a subroutine in the computer there for remote notification of important events," Merlin said. "I simply added activation of the Astria Porta as one such event, then routed the notification to me."

"Good thing, too," I responded, "otherwise who knows what mischief our visitors might do."

"I still have my uses," Merlin said a bit defensively. "You haven't learned all the information that I have access to, and there's no substitute for experience."

"Yeah, I know, you're amazingly clever for a hologram," I said, wondering again at how the Alterans had managed to develop such an incredibly advanced AI, then squeeze it down into a compact wrist device. "Let's go see who's trespassing on our property." I twisted slightly and with a pop, I was gone.

* * *

For safety's sake I apparated into a storage room rather than any of the main rooms. I cracked the door slightly, and when I didn't hear anything after a long moment, I carefully opened it the rest of the way, my wand in constant motion as I searched for threats. A quick _Homenum Revelio_ revealed that there were only two people nearby, both in the portal room and stationary.

I disillusioned myself and headed there, only to be stopped short when I saw the two very familiar, very unconscious figures on the ground. I cancelled the disillusionment as I slowly walked up to the one with short, blonde hair. "Well, well, well. I did hope that you'd visit me again, Captain Carter, but not like this." I then turned to the other and said, "You, though, I could have done without."

A few waves of my wand told me that she was uninjured, but that Colonel O'Neill had several broken bones, including a couple of broken ribs that had probably punctured something and were causing internal bleeding. "Shite," I muttered. "Now I'm going to have to be responsible for saving your sorry ass, aren't I?"

I transfigured some of the ice into two beds and began healing O'Neill. Healing wasn't a specialty of mine, not by any means, but I had been forced to learn the basics after I left Hogwarts and no longer had Madam Pomfrey around to take care of the injuries which I seemed to get distressingly often.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten that my two unexpected visitors were in the military when I turned my back on Carter in order to work on O'Neill. I was most of the way done when I heard an ominous clicking behind me and Carter's voice saying, "Stop what you're doing and let me see your hands. What have you done to the Colonel?"

I did stop and lift my hands, making sure to keep my wand concealed despite being in the middle of a spell. I couldn't help but smile, though.

"You never call, you never write," I said, trying to sound casual. I had no particular reason to think that she would have taken me up on my offer, but that hadn't stopped me from hoping. "What's a girl gotta do to get your attention, anyway?"

"Who...?" Carter asked softly, and I pulled back the hood of my cloak as I turned my head so I could see her. "Andromeda Potter?" she asked in surprise. "Where?" How?" She lowered her rifle, though only slightly.

"How is not something I know. The where is a place of mine. One of them, at any rate." Carter looked around in wonder after I said this, giving me a chance to cast a few more healing spells on the colonel's chest without her noticing. Fortunately I'd already taken care of his leg, which just left the damage around his rib cage.

"What are you doing with the Colonel?" she asked again, still sounding suspicious.

"He was injured when you two came through, and I'm trying to fix him up."

"How bad is it?" she asked, her tone shifting to concern as she moved forward on her bed.

"Not great, but he'll be alright, especially after a few days rest," I assured her.

Carter started to get up and stumbled slightly. I spun around to steady her and said, "Careful, you took quite a fall when you came out of the Astria Porta."

"The..." she started to say, then answered her own question. "Oh, you mean the Stargate. Right, we were under attack when we came through."

"Oh?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager for information, despite the fact that I was practically quivering with anticipation. Clearly they knew far more than I could have imagined... and far more than I would have liked. I was particularly concerned about the fact that they had their own portal and were using it — I had been under the impression that you could only have one on a planet. And why was I only finding out about it now? Why was this the first time anyone had come through mine? Would I even be able to use mine if theirs was active?

Oh, what I would have given to be able to do wandless Legilimency! I couldn't, though, because I'd focused on developing other skills that I'd thought were more important, which meant that I was going to have to get information out of her the old fashioned way.

"I never would have thought that the Air Force had an Astria Porta," I said as casually as I could.

"Yeah," she said as she put a hand to her head. "Since the forties, actually, though we've only gotten it working in the past couple of years, and only started regularly going off world in the last year or so." She frowned. "But how did you get here, and where—"

"You said you were under attack?" I interrupted.

"That's right!" She replied, her eyes widening in obvious worry. "There were two others with us. Daniel and Teal'c. Did you see them?"

"Daniel Jackson?" I said with a frown. "I haven't seen him since you three visited me a few months ago. And I don't know a Teal'c."

"Big guy, bald with a golden symbol on his forehead," Carter said. "You'd know him if you saw him." She then turned to look at the Astria Porta. "I suppose it's possible that they made it through to Earth."

"Earth?" I asked, confused. Where did she think she was?

"Yeah," Carter said absently as she examined the ring. "There were a lot of energy blasts hitting the Stargate before we went through. I wonder if it overloaded, and if that could have caused the wormhole to jump to a different gate, depositing us here on this planet while the rest of the team, which went through first, actually made it to Earth. Do you mind if I look at your DHD?"

"My... what?" I asked, feeling more off-balance than I had in a long, long time.

"Your gate controller," she said, gesturing to the control pedestal. "We call it the Dial Home Device. DHD."

"Oh, sure," I said, half smiling. "Knock yourself out. I'll go finish with your colonel."

"Will he be able to travel?"

"He'll be fine, don't worry," I assured her.

I let her fuss with the control stand while I turned my back and cast the final healing spells on O'Neill, then cast a light Sleeping Charm just to make sure he stayed unconscious. Carter was chatty, and while I was obviously missing a lot of context here, I was sure that I'd get more out of her so long as her commanding officer wasn't awake to bark out "That's classified!" every five seconds.

I was also pleased to finally have a chance to talk to her again, despite the unfortunate circumstances. And if I wasn't mistaken, she seemed interested as well, at least judging by the fact that she kept sneaking glances at at me.

Unless, of course, she was still suspicious about what I was doing with O'Neill.

"Well?" I asked once I'd finished with the crabby colonel and returned to the cute captain.

"Everything is in order," she said as she closed the access panel in the back. "Whatever caused us to come here doesn't seem to have damaged the DHD, which is good. I should be able to dial Earth."

That would be a bad idea, not that I could tell her why — I was pretty sure that I would be better off if she kept thinking she wasn't on Earth.

"I think I'd feel more comfortable if you went to another planet first," I said. "I, uh, like my privacy."

"Oh," Carter responded, then she narrowed her eyes. "And how is it that you got here, anyway? You haven't used the Stargate, that's for sure. Do you have a starship of some sort? Are you even from Earth? You look human, but are you? Human, I mean?"

Although I knew I wouldn't be able to distract her this time, I couldn't help but give her a wan smile, remembering another incredibly smart girl who loved to ask all sorts of questions. "Yes, I'm from Earth, but no, I don't intend to tell you how I got here. It's a little rude for guests to interrogate a host like that, don't you think?"

"Oh, sorry," Carter responded, taken a little aback. "It's just, well, we've never encountered anyone else who's traveled off-world like us. The only humans we've found are the slaves and descendants of slaves taken from Earth by the Goa'uld."

I frowned, disturbed at such news. Clearly, there was far more going on in the galaxy than Merlin had been able to tell me, and a lot of it was bad. Yet I didn't dare reveal just how ignorant I was. "That's understandable, I suppose," I said after a moment. "I don't mind being asked questions, but there are some that I won't answer."

She nodded in understanding, then looked over at O'Neill. "How's the Colonel?"

"I've done all I can for him, but he should see a medical doctor soon," I said. "He'll sleep for a while, though, so he's not in any pain or discomfort." I stayed deliberately vague about how extensive his injuries had actually been — I knew that a doctor with the right equipment would probably be able to figure out what had happened, but by that point it would be too late.

"I have a feeling you know quite a lot more about what was in those photos than you let on," I heard her say, and when I turned back I found her bright, blue eyes boring into me with intense curiosity.

"You don't believe everything your colonel says, do you?"

"No, I had a feeling you knew more even then, but I had to follow orders." She was quiet for a few moments before asking, "You're not going to answer any questions about how you got here, what you're doing here, or even where here is, are you?" I shook my head, and she sighed. "Well, I should get the Colonel back to the base. Even if he's out of danger now, they're going to be looking for us."

I nodded, and she walked back to the control stand where she dialed in an address — an address which I was careful to memorize, because it was the first one I'd ever had access to. Well, the first address other than the one that Merlin thought would get me to Atlantis, but I didn't have enough power to reach there, so it hardly counted. It had been so frustrating to have the means to instantaneously travel to other planets, yet to lack something as simple as an address in order to do it. Merlin hadn't had any addresses, and all addresses had been wiped from the computers in the Antarctic installation. It was possible that some were still buried in the crystals in the control pedestal, but I had yet to learn enough about how they worked to go digging around.

Unfortunately, having a working address now wouldn't do me much good if I returned through an Astria Porta controlled by the U.S. Air Force and located on a secret military base somewhere!

"Any chance you could wake the Colonel so he can walk?" Carter asked hopefully. "I'm not looking forward to carrying him."

"Sure," I said, "but first, take this." I shoved a piece of paper into her hand. "I don't relish having the government storming my home demanding answers, so that house will be empty and my previous number will be disconnected in short order. This is an emergency number." I squeezed her hand around the paper and caught her eye. "Just you. I hope you'll use this one."

My words flustered her enough to cover a silent reviving spell I cast on O'Neill, waking him up, followed by a Confundus Charm so he wouldn't notice too much and start asking questions.

"Carter?" O'Neill mumbled as he sat up, and I pulled my hood back over my head. "Where are we?"

"Long story, sir," she replied as she put an arm around his waist to help him stand and walk. "Let's just get going, and I'll explain along the way."

She took one quick glance back at me before stepping through, and I mouthed "Call me," causing her to get flustered again and stumble as they stepped through the Astria Porta.

"I hope she doesn't cause him to break his leg again," I muttered as I prepared to return home and pack everything before the Air Force could move in. I frowned at the odd feeling that had once again appeared in my stomach. I told myself that it wasn't a fluttering, and it certainly had nothing to do with why I'd given her my number. I mean, it's not like I would have done it if I'd had such a reaction after passing by her in the grocery store or anything. No, it was solely because she was interesting. And smart.

Like Hermione had been.

Yeah, I didn't find myself very convincing, either.

* * *

 _Two Months Later..._

"Hello?" I said when I picked up the phone.

"Andromeda, is that you?" came the reply, and it only took me a moment to recognize the voice.

"Samantha?" I asked, and I could feel those sensations bubbling up in my stomach again. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to—"

"Andromeda, we need your help," Carter interrupted.

"Oh?" I asked, suddenly feeling very suspicious as the fluttering cut off abruptly. Apparently this wasn't the personal call that I'd hoped it would be.

"I can't explain it over the phone," Carter continued. "Can we meet?"

"Where are you?" I asked. I wasn't happy with how this conversation was going, but I also didn't want to simply reject a chance to see her, whatever the reason. Pathetic, I know.

"Colorado Springs," she said, "We can travel if necessary, but we're working against a deadline."

"Just a minute," I said as I opened my laptop and started Google Earth. "What's the deadline? And who's 'we'?"

"We don't know what our deadline is exactly, and that's part of the problem," she answered. "The 'we' is me and Daniel Jackson, if we have to travel to see you. It includes Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c if you're near and can come to us."

I zoomed in on Colorado Springs and found what looked like a hospital I could apparate to. With such a nice, big roof to focus on, I'd be pretty safe even if I was slightly off target, and from there I could easily get a taxi anywhere else.

"Pick a place," I said. "I can get there pretty quick."

"Quinn's" I heard a voice in the background say, and then Carter said, "Jack Quinn's is a pub on South Tejon Street. Can you get there?"

"I'll find it," I said. "Two hours OK?"

"That'll be fine."

"I'm putting a lot of trust in you," I said softly before I hung up. I dressed fast so I could get going — I had time, but I wanted to arrive early to see if I could spot any evidence of a trap. I also needed a little time to get my emotions in order: the high I'd experienced when I first realized that she was finally calling me had been immediately followed by a depressing low when I learned that her call had only been about business.

I had been able to go several years without thinking much about how alone I'd been. So long as I didn't think about it, I couldn't be lonely, right? But now, after two meetings with Samantha Carter, I'd stopped simply _being_ on my own and started _feeling_ alone. And on top of that were the fluttering feelings I was getting when we talked — feelings that I'd never expected to experience again. I didn't like any of that — not one bit. But I had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

I was already on my second coffee when the four arrived. I hadn't seen anything suspicious when I'd gotten there over an hour earlier, and once I was satisfied I came inside, checked out the bathrooms, and sat in a booth as far back as I could. I didn't know what might be coming, but I hoped I was ready for anything. Constant Vigilance! It's a motto that had applied equally well during my training as a curse-breaker as it did for aurors.

Carter said something to the others, and whatever it was it made O'Neill unhappy; then she approached me on her own. "I just want you to know," she said softly when she got to the booth, "that I didn't tell anyone it was you who helped us. I just said it was someone in a cloak."

"Why?" I asked with a frown. I thought I'd been ready for anything, but I never would have expected her to keep that bit of information to herself.

She looked uncomfortable for a moment before answering. "I guess I wanted you to know that you could trust us. Or trust me, at least. You clearly didn't have a lot of trust when we first approached you, and I could tell from the phone call that you're still suspicious. But I also got the sense that you wanted to be able to trust _me_. And, well, that was the only way I could think of to try to earn that trust."

"That must have been a huge risk, withholding such information," I pointed out.

She nodded. "I checked a couple of days later, though, and you were indeed gone from your house. So them knowing probably wouldn't have helped, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't have," I agreed. "I doubt that your superiors would accept that argument, but I can see that you didn't think you were depriving them of anything genuinely useful. Thank you. That means a lot to me. I don't trust others very easily." Carter smiled and I felt my heart skip a beat. I took a deep breath, desperately trying to shove aside my emotions. "OK, why don't you sit down and tell me why you would need my help and why the situation is so desperate."

Carter waved the other three over, and once they were all sitting, they told me an incredible tale that I wouldn't have found believable even as a plot for a bad summer action movie. I'd have laughed at them if it weren't for two facts: one, I already knew that at least some of it was plausible, and two, there was no way that any of them would have participated in such a complex prank on me.

"Let me get this straight," I said slowly, "The four of you travel around the galaxy through these devices you call Stargates. You're looking for advanced technology to serve commercial and military interests, but in the process keep stirring up hornets nests. You," I pointed to Jackson, "somehow travelled to an alternate reality where one of the head hornets was in the process of conquering Earth. You're worried that the same will soon happen here and want to prevent it, but the people in charge are shutting your program down because it costs too much, preventing you from doing what you believe needs to be done to save all of humanity from enslavement and/or extermination."

"Yep, that's about the size of it," O'Neill said. "Sounds too crazy to be true, doesn't it?"

"Oh, I've met crazy before," I answered absently as I continued to process it all. "But why me? I've already guessed that the first time you visited was about something connected to your Stargate." Jackson and O'Neill nodded. "But I can't imagine that that's the reason you needed to see me now."

"The first time was because we wanted to see if you could tell us anything new and useful," O'Neill said. "If you could, we were going to consider inviting you to join the program."

"Oh?" I responded, raising one eyebrow. That was actually more surprising than their story had been.

O'Neill nodded. "Daniel here is the only real expert we have on ancient Egypt and the languages we encounter. A second expert could be helpful."

"Huh." Apparently, I'd screwed that up pretty good — had I just played ball, I might have been a lot farther ahead in my efforts to reach Atlantis.

"But now we need a different sort of help," Jackson said. "When I was in the other reality, I saw different versions of all of us. Well, most of us — I apparently never joined the program, but you had."

"Me?"

"It's possible that they originally approached you instead of me, or maybe you were more forthcoming when Jack and Sam visited you a few months ago," Jackson continued. "Regardless, you were there with... well, you were with Sam. Working with Sam. Yeah, um, let's go with that. You two were together, working on ways to stop the attack. And you, uh, you were doing things..."

"With Sam?" I asked. Sam cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Daniel's exact words were 'freaky things,' I believe," O'Neill offered helpfully.

"With Sam?" I repeated, suppressing a smirk, while Sam hid her reaction by hastily taking a drink.

"No, uh, with your hands," Jackson replied, causing Sam to choke on the drink.

"Are you feeling unwell, Captain Carter?" Teal'c asked, finally entering the conversation.

"No, I'm fine," she gasped, lunging for a napkin.

"Define freaky," I said, now seeing where this was going. As much as I found Sam's reaction to be amusing, it didn't sound like we had much time to waste.

"It's... hard to say," Jackson admitted. "I didn't understand what you and Sam had been working on, but once the Jaffa entered the base, you left her to continue on her own while you helped the defenders. It looked like you'd just wave your hand and send large numbers of them flying away. I assumed at first that you two had figured out how to use some sort of alien device, but I never actually saw you using or wearing one."

"Whatever it was you were doing," O'Neill interrupted, "Jackson said it looked important — both the scientific work with Carter and whatever you were able to do to help defend the base. Freaky or not, if we're going to stop the Earth from being invaded and humanity from being enslaved, I figured we could use both skillsets."

"And we are very short on allies at the moment," Teal'c added.

"I suspect you know a lot more than we realized," Sam said softly, and I looked at her, focusing on her blue eyes. "Even though we have more experience fighting the Goa'uld, we could use your help."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I considered what they had told me and what they were asking. I was reluctant to get involved in efforts to save the world. Again. On the other hand, I did still live here and would be in a lot of trouble if the world were enslaved by—

My eyes flew open. "Wait, what was that about snake parasites?"

"That is what the Goa'uld truly are," Teal'c answered. "They present themselves as gods, but they are little more than parasites which use others as hosts."

"But snakes, right?" I asked, starting to understand where the parselscript might have come from.

"Indeed," Teal'c answered. Now I knew who it was that started using the Astria Porta after the Alterans left. Unfortunately, instead of using the portals for trade and exploration, the snakes had been using them for conquest and slavery. As a descendant of the Alterans, I felt a bit of responsibility to stop the misuse of my ancestors' creations.

It was starting to look like finding and retrieving the city of Atlantis was even more necessary than I'd ever realized.

"Why is that so important?" O'Neill asked.

"Ask me again once we save the world," I answered.

"So you're in?" O'Neill clarified, his suspicious look brightening just a bit.

"Sure, why not?" I replied with a bravado I didn't quite feel. "I don't have any other plans for the next couple of days."

"Excellent! Just what I like to hear," O'Neill said as he finished his soda and stood up. "I'll admit that I'm not too keen on taking a civilian along like this, but Daniel and Sam are convinced that you can help, and I trust their judgment, so I'm willing to take the chance."

I nodded as I stood and we exited the pub. "I won't let you down," I assured him. It had been a long time since I'd been in any sort of combat situation, but I was pretty sure that I'd be able to handle myself — especially since I had quite a few tricks up my sleeves which neither the Air Force nor the Goa'uld had likely ever seen before.

Literally up my sleeves — my wand under my right sleeve and the wrist device containing the Merlin AI under my left.

Granted, it would mean breaking the Statute of Secrecy, but... did it even apply off-world? I didn't think so, and since the only way I'd ever be charged with anything was if the American government first revealed the existence of the Stargate to one or more magical governments, I was pretty sure I'd be safe. The only question was exactly how much I could afford to reveal and how much I wanted to keep to myself.

"It shouldn't be too hard to get you into the base, but getting you outfitted in gear might prove more difficult," O'Neill said once we were getting into his truck.

"Gear?" I asked.

"A uniform, so you'll blend in," O'Neill answered. "A weapon... wait, do you even know how to fire a gun?"

"Never needed to," I answered with a shrug, "so don't worry about it."

I could hear O'Neill sigh and mutter, "Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all," as he started the engine.

I wasn't paying much attention, though, because Teal'c, being as big as he was, took the front passenger seat, leaving the rest of us in the back. I was lucky enough to be in the middle, which meant that I was squished tight up against Sam, who had an indecipherable expression on her face.

I wasn't sure where exactly my decision to join this bunch was going to take me, but I supposed that I'd try to enjoy the ride while I could. I still needed to find Atlantis, of course — that mission was far too important to compromise on — but until then it wouldn't hurt to spend some time with human beings again.

And that damned fluttering was definitely back.


	5. Super Friends (HP-Supergirl Xover)

**Super Friends**

 **Summary:** One day while hiding and crying over how his relatives treat him, Harry Potter is found by a vacationing American family: the Kents. Young and rebellious, Kara Kent is immediately drawn to him and gives him her support, leading to a powerful friendship that produces unexpected changes in both of them — changes that will impact not just wizarding Britain, but the entire world.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Supergirl

 **Pairing:** Harry Potter/Kara Kent (Kara Zor-El)

 **A/N:** This is another male Harry story, and one which I have a lot of attachment to. It's an idea I started thinking about years before I ever tried writing fanfiction. I think this story has potential, but changes from canon would accrue very slowly. I don't want to just rewrite canon because that would get boring, both for me and for readers. One option is to do vignettes (short key scenes from each year) until enough changes have accumulated (at least 4th year, but probably 5th or 6th) to make it worth shifting to a full story. I'm not sure, though, how entertaining that would be.

In this story, Harry starts out at the age of seven, and I'm thinking that Kara would be nine or ten. In some ways she's more mature than he is, but in other ways, not so much. This is very AU for Kara, since I'm not closely following any of the various DC incarnations of her. If DC can keep changing things around for her, why can't I?

Thanks to Mainsail for plot feedback, and to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Supergirl or Superman, DC does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - You've Got a Friend in Me**

 **July 31, 1987. Little Whinging, Surrey.**

"Jonathan, I think it's time to simply admit that we're lost."

"No, no, give me a minute here, Martha — I'm sure I can figure this out."

The older woman with steel-grey hair sighed patiently, then turned to look up at her adopted son. "Clark, I don't suppose you could..."

"Sorry, Ma, it's too likely that I'd be seen."

She looked around at the empty streets and sidewalks. "I suppose so, and there isn't even so much as a phone booth for you to use."

Clark snorted. "The last time I attempted that, I almost got stuck trying to get my pants off. It was a horrible idea."

"Maybe if we'd gone one station further on that train," Jonathan muttered as he studied the map, and Martha shook her head as she watched him.

"Tell me you didn't inherit that," she whispered to her son.

"Although it's hardly ever been a problem, I have in fact stopped to ask for directions," he answered just as quietly, and she smiled.

"Well, that's something, at least," Martha said. "I don't know about Kara, though..." She trailed off and began looking around. "Kara?"

Clark stopped as well and pulled his glasses down his nose, squinting a little as he turned in a complete circle, constantly looking in the distance. "I don't see her, Ma."

"She was right behind us! I _told_ her to stay close!" Martha exclaimed as she stopped her husband. "That girl is always running off, getting into trouble! I swear she'll be the death of me."

"I don't understand why she's like this — I certainly never did anything like that when I was her age," Clark said innocently.

"Oh, you weren't exactly a perfect little angel," Jonathan chided him, putting away the map. "But it's true that your cousin is a lot brasher than you ever were. Hardly a month goes by that we don't get at least one complaint of some sort from the school, and I always have a devil of a time finding her when I need her for something. I never know if she's at the pond chasing frogs, out exploring in one of the fields, or maybe playing in the barn."

"We'll complain later," Martha said firmly, holding up a hand to stop the other two. "Right now, let's retrace our steps and see where she might have wandered off to." She looked forlornly at unending rows of dull, identical houses. "Heaven knows what she could have found around here that would be so interesting, though."

* * *

 _Ten Minutes Earlier..._

Kara Kent was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored. Winning a vacation for four to England was supposed to be _exciting_. It was supposed to be an _adventure_. At any rate, it was supposed to be better than a boring old farm near a dull little town in drab, monotonous Kansas. Sometimes their vacation had been interesting, she had to admit, but today had easily been the most boring day of her life. _Ever_.

Finding the humdrum little park had been the most exciting thing to happen since they'd left the hotel that morning. That's was why she'd made a beeline for it as soon as she'd seen it, ignoring the fact that her boring parents and even more boring older cousin kept walking down the boring street without her.

Since then she'd played on all the equipment, twice, and was already bored out of her skull again. Now she was spinning lazily on the creaky merry-go-round for the third time, morosely contemplating her tragically insipid life, when she thought she heard a noise from somewhere close by. Quickly stopping, she concentrated hard so she could listen, and she could hear it as clear as if it were right next to her: a sniffling, crying child.

Kara may have found it too easy to get into trouble when she was bored — which was most of the time — but one thing she had learned well from her parents and cousin was a sense of duty when it came to helping others. How many stories had they read to her where the hero went out on an adventure to save someone who was hurting or in danger? Granted, the hero was always a boy, and they usually rescued a girl, but so what? That was stupid. She was stronger and faster than any dumb boy... well, except for her cousin, of course.

She didn't hesitate and was quickly able to identify that the crying was coming from a row of large bushes at the far edge of the playground. Running as fast as she could, she covered the twenty yards in a flash and was soon on her hands and knees, peering through the dense foliage. Once she spotted the tiny child, it didn't take her long to find a narrow path, barely big enough for her to crawl through.

 _He's so small!_ was the first thing she thought when she finally reached him, curled up against a wooden fence in a tiny patch of bare earth hidden behind the bushes.

Moving slowly now so as not to startle him, she crawled forward and said in a soft, gentle voice, "Are you alright?"

Despite her efforts, he still jumped at the unexpected noise. Sniffing heavily and wiping his nose on his sleeve, he said. "Wh-who are you?"

"Mine name is Kara. What's yours?"

"I-I'm Harry," the boy said shyly. "How did you find me? I didn't think anyone could find me back here."

"I heard you," Kara said, her tone of voice suggesting that it should have been obvious.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said, looking down. "I didn't mean to bother you."

Kara frowned, wondering why he'd think he'd bothered her. "It's alright, I wasn't bothered. I just wanted to see what was wrong. Do you need help?"

Harry shook his head. "You can't help," he whispered. "No one can help. You should probably just go, like everyone else."

Kara frowned even more deeply now, then made a fateful decision that would change not only their lives, but the lives of billions. She crawled forward, sat next to him, and put her arm around him. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong," she said softly as she pulled him close. "I promise I'll listen."

Harry stiffened for a moment at the unexpected contact, then slowly relaxed into her side. After a few moments of silence, he began to tell her about his life — about how his aunt and uncle favored his cousin Dudley, about how he had to do most of the chores, about how he got punished for almost anything that went wrong, and about how no one ever believed him when he complained. He had, in fact, complained to a teacher earlier that week, but somehow his uncle had convinced them that he had been lying, and the previous night he'd been spanked hard before being thrown into his cupboard without any food.

The entire time, Kara grew more and more horrified at Harry's tale. She herself was dissatisfied with her life — her parents couldn't keep up with her, her cousin was so much older and moving on with his own life, and she lived in the most boring place on the planet — but she had to admit she was loved and cared for. She'd never experienced anything remotely like what Harry had been going through, and she felt a little guilty for all of her own complaining over the years. She also felt a burning anger for those who had hurt such a sweet, innocent boy.

Most of all, though, she felt compassion and a burning desire to help Harry. She didn't know him, but she knew that she needed to help him in any way she could. These feelings were matched by an even greater desperation on Harry's part to find someone who could provide the love and affection that were absent in his life.

Unbeknownst to either child, the different powers inside each of them responded to their strong emotions. The magic in Harry, which had been conditioned over the years to heal him and keep him healthy, reached out towards the unexpected source of warmth and tenderness that had come so tantalizingly close — the first time this had happened since Harry's parents had died. Had Kara been a muggle, nothing would have come of this, for there would have been nothing for Harry's magic to latch onto, and Harry's life would have proceeded down the tragic path that it had been on.

But Kara was no mere muggle. She wasn't even human. As a Kryptonian, she had her own, growing power deep inside her, a power that could also respond to her emotions. Already primed to help her help someone in need, it was not prepared for the tentative, hopeful touch from the slim tendril of magic reaching out from the boy — no more than Harry's magic was prepared for the sort of power it encountered in the girl.

In the midst of the unexpected meeting, help was requested and granted. Harry's magic was received by Kara's sun-fueled core while her own energy travelled back along the tendril, funneling the power of the sun deeply into him. The two types of power could not mix, but they could survive and even thrive together, so while Harry's magic both accepted and implanted the concentrated power of the sun in his frail body, Kara's core accepted a bit of Harry's magic inside her, creating a tenuous connection that neither of them would have understood.

"How come your voice sounds funny?" he asked at one point.

"I'm from America — this is how we talk there."

"Oh," Harry said, frowning. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I guess that's pretty dumb of me."

"No, it's not," Kara insisted. "I didn't know about the different accents either before I came here."

"You didn't?"

"No, so it's not dumb. And you're not dumb, either." He looked at her hopefully. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you're the one who talks funny, not me." Kara thought his ensuing grin was the best thing she'd ever seen, and they immediately leaned into each other as they were overcome by a fit of giggling.

They sat together for a long while, talking a little but mostly just enjoying each other's presence. Kara tried to reach out mentally to provide the boy with comfort because she didn't know what else to do; Harry tried to reach out and absorb as much of the pleasant contact as he could, because he didn't know when or if something like that would ever happen again. In the process, a little more magic was exchanged for a little more power from the sun, and their connection was strengthened just a tiny bit.

* * *

"I see her, Ma."

"Oh, thank God! Where is she, Clark?" Martha and Jonathan had stopped on the sidewalk by a small park and were looking expectantly at their son, who was staring into the distance.

"She's hiding behind that row of bushes," Clark answered.

"Hiding?" Jonathan exclaimed. "What did she do now?"

"Wait, no, she's with someone — a little boy," Clark amended as a frown grew across his face. "I think something's wrong."

"Well, let's not stand here yapping," Martha said as she started marching towards the bushes. "If they need help, we have to get over there."

Jonathan and Clark followed along quickly, not daring to respond. Whether Kara was in need of help or was in trouble, they knew better than to get in the way.

"Kara Kent!" Martha called out once she reached the bushes. "We've been looking for you for almost half an hour, young lady! Get your butt out here right now!"

"Oh, shit!" Kara exclaimed softly, knowing that her cousin would still be able to hear, but sure that he wouldn't tattle. She looked at Harry and said, "My mother and father are here. I... I need to go."

"It's OK," Harry said, sounding sad but resigned. "Thanks for staying as long as you did."

Kara thought for a moment, then grabbed Harry's hand. "Come with me," she insisted. "They'll help."

"Kara, I'm waiting!"

Harry shook his head. "No one can help, I told you."

"Please?" Kara asked, giving him the puppy-dog eyes that usually worked pretty well with Clark. "Try, at least? For me?"

"I'm going to count to ten, young lady, and if you aren't out here by the time I'm done..."

Harry clearly wanted to say no. However warm and comforting his brief time with Kara had been, he had known all along that it would end and preferred that it end quickly rather than drag out painfully. But for some reason, he found himself unable to resist the pleading in her eyes and voice.

"Eight. Seven."

"Alright," he said with a sigh, and the smile she gave him in response made him feel like there were butterflies in his stomach.

"Four. Three."

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Kara called out. "It's a really... ugh... tight fit through here."

"It does look tight, Ma," Clark said softly.

"Then she should have started sooner," Martha said with a huff.

It took a few more seconds, but the precocious little blonde was soon standing again and brushing off her pants, then helping Harry to his feet.

"Do you have any idea how worried—" Martha started, but Kara immediately interrupted her, surprising herself because she never, ever did that.

"Ma, this is Harry," she said, pulling Harry to her side. "I just met him, and he needs help."

Martha, too, was surprised, because as often as she had to scold Kara, the girl always accepted it quietly. Rather than scold her even more, though, she stopped and took a good look at the boy. The thin face. The tatty clothing. The submissive attitude. As the disturbing signs began to accumulate, her entire demeanor changed. She stepped forward slowly and knelt in front of the two children. "Harry, is it?" she asked gently, and he nodded. "How old are you?"

"Seven," Harry said softly as he stared at his heavily-worn shoes.

"He looks more like he's five..." Jonathan said in disbelief.

"Do your parents not treat you well?" Martha asked. Given the economic uncertainties of rural farm life, she'd seen neglected children more than once and knew it wasn't easy to get information out of them.

"My parents are dead," Harry said. "Died in a car crash while driving drunk."

"He lives with his aunt and uncle," Kara said, realizing that Harry wasn't going to volunteer more. "And no, they don't treat him well." She once again put her arm around the smaller boy's shoulders while Martha looked up helplessly at her husband.

Clark remained silent, but Kara could hear his teeth grinding in anger, pressing together with enough force to crush diamonds.

Jonathan shook his head as he wiped his hand across his face. "This isn't even our country, Martha. We don't know what the laws are, and we're leaving in a few days."

"We can't just do nothing!" she retorted, and then as if to reinforce her message she reached out and pulled the boy into a hug. Even more warning bells went off for her when she felt him stiffen, but then suddenly he relaxed as Kara joined the hug from behind him.

"I suppose we could escort him home and talk to his relatives," Jonathan started, but he stopped as soon as he saw the terrified expression on Harry's face. "Or... maybe we could find the police? Talk to them, I guess?"

"Now I need that phone booth more than ever," Clark said as he looked around again, using his powers to locate any sort of public means of communication.

* * *

 **August, 1990. Little Whinging, Surrey.**

The sun was high and the temperature was even higher, but that didn't bother Harry as he slaved over his Aunt Petunia's prized flowers. For the past couple of years, he'd come to actually enjoy working outside, especially when it was sunny. He didn't understand why, but no matter how long and hard he worked under the hot sun, he tended to feel refreshed and invigorated at the end of his chores — and this was true even when his relatives refused to feed him because of his "freakishness."

So while the rest of the neighborhood — and especially his relatives — were sweating it out in front of their electric fans, Harry was humming a happy tune under the blistering afternoon sun. At least, he was until he heard a harsh whisper from somewhere nearby.

"Harry!"

He stopped and looked around, trying to find the source, but when he didn't see anything, he wiped his face with the t-shirt he'd taken off so he could better enjoy the warmth and simply went back to work.

"Harry!"

This time he laid his tools down and looked around more carefully, certain that he hadn't been imagining the voice after all. It only took him a few moments to spot a bit of blonde hair through the bushes that separated the Dursley's property from the neighbors behind them. "Who's there?" he asked.

That was when a head emerged, and Harry saw a face that he'd given up on ever seeing again, almost to the point of thinking it might have only ever been a dream.

"Ka-Kara?" he asked in disbelief as he slowly stood. It only took a moment for her to charge out of the bushes and fling herself against him, wrapping him in a tight hug which he instinctively reciprocated. Neither of them were aware of how the thin connection between them, strained nearly to the breaking point because of the distance and long period of separation, immediately began to strengthen. His magic and her power intertwined even more tightly and deeply, seeking to prevent their link from ever coming so close to snapping again.

"Harry, you jerk!" Kara hissed, her harsh words standing in stark contrast to her actions. "Why didn't you ever respond to any of our letters? Or even just my letters? I thought you said we'd be friends! Friends forever!"

"Letters?" Harry asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "What letters?"

Kara jerked her head back and looked at him in confusion. "Whaddya mean, what letters? I've been sending you one or two a month at least, ever since I got back home. Ma and Pa have sent you several, too, not to mention Christmas cards. Heck, even Clark sent one, though it was pretty short."

Harry shook his head and said, "No, I never received anything. I thought... well, I thought you simply went away and decided to ignore me, just like everyone else does when their attempts to help me fail."

"No, Harry! I'd never igno—" Kara stopped in mid-word, then said slowly, "What do you mean, 'fail'?"

Harry turned his head to avoid her eyes and mumbled, "Nothing, never mind. It doesn't matter."

Kara put a hand on his cheek and forced him to look at her. "Don't give me that. I didn't buy that sort of thing when we first met, and I'm not going to buy it now." Harry flushed slightly at the knowledge that he couldn't hide anything from her. "Now tell me the truth — what happened?"

Harry looked around furtively, then pulled her to a spot against the house that was partially concealed by his aunt's rose bushes. "No one will be able to see us here, and if my aunt comes out, I can pretend I'm working while you duck down behind the roses." Kara nodded as she sat down against the house, and Harry slid in next to her. She immediately and instinctively put her arm around his shoulders. Neither consciously thought about how much better they felt at the contact as they leaned into each other.

"Once you left, the police constable took some more information, but I never saw him again," Harry explained. "A few days later, Vernon was positively gloating when he told me that the investigation had been dropped, and even more so when he added that I'd be punished for making the family seem less normal than they really were."

"Oh, no!" Kara whispered.

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't too bad. Not the worst I've had to endure, honestly. Mostly it was a lot of work outside while getting less food, no more than one meal a day. I've found that I enjoy working in the yard, though, so I didn't mind. Just as well, since he made that the new standard for me once he realized that it wasn't affecting me too badly."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's not your fault, I don't blame you," Harry insisted. "If anything, the memory of that last hug you gave me before you left made it easier for me. Especially the part where you said we'd be friends for life."

"Really?" Kara asked, sounding hopeful.

"Yeah, whenever I thought about it, and about you, I felt like I had extra energy."

"Wow," Kara said, leaning into him more. "When we didn't hear back from you, I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with me again."

"But you still wrote?" Harry asked.

Kara nodded. "I figured that even if you didn't want to be my friend, I still wanted to be yours. And I didn't want you to forget me."

"How could I forget you? You're the only friend I've ever had."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Kara asked.

Harry shook his head. "I haven't bothered trying to ask for help since you left. But just being here with me now is nice."

"Then that's what I'll do: sit with you," she said, hugging him tighter.

"How long can you stay?" Harry asked. "Will your parents be coming to pick you up? I don't want my relatives to see them. It could cause trouble."

"Uh, that won't be an issue," Kara said nervously. "I'm here on my own."

"How?" Harry asked, pulling away so he could look at her. "Isn't Colorado a long way from here? And expensive to travel from?"

"Kansas, actually, and yeah, it is far," Kara admitted, not looking Harry in the eye. "But I've got a way to get back and forth."

"Is it illegal? Dangerous?"

"No, not at all!" Kara said, looking at him again. "I'll be fine."

"Well, if you're sure," Harry said slowly. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"It won't," she said as they leaned back into each other. After a moment's silence, she looked pointedly at the top of his head. "You've grown taller, haven't you?"

Harry snorted. "It _has_ been three years. Of course I've grown."

"No, I mean you're catching up to me. The difference between us isn't as big as it was before."

"I dunno, maybe," Harry said with a shrug. "The only clothes I get are Dudley's castoffs, and they're always too big for me, so it's hard to say."

Kara sighed. Just like last time, she struggled with the reality that Harry's problems were well beyond her ability to solve. So she simply held him close, and like last time, it seemed to make them both feel better. What they didn't know was that their close contact once again fostered the exchange of energy: more of Harry's magic was accepted into Kara while her own sun-fueled power was accepted into him. The foreign energy in both of them expanded next to their native energy — not displacing, but rather supplementing and even enhancing.

It wasn't a situation that could last, and when Aunt Petunia shouted out through a window that he'd better not take too much longer because he still had to make dinner yet, Harry had to scramble to his feet to promise that he'd be done soon — a promise that was only fulfilled because Kara managed to help in places that she couldn't be seen from within the house.

All too soon, Harry had to go inside. "Do you know when you'll be back again?" he asked.

"I honestly don't know," Kara confessed. "It could be tomorrow, or it could be a week. But I'll come as soon as I can, I promise."

"Alright, I understand. I know you have other things you need to—"

"No," Kara interrupted. "I've been going crazy not knowing why you never responded, and this morning I... well, I just snapped, I guess. This was about the first time that I could easily make it here, so I came. If I'm not back tomorrow or the next day, it's because I _can't_ , not because I have better things to do."

Harry frowned at the mention of her having still been at home that morning, but let it go. "Surely you have friends and things to do at home?" he said.

Kara shrugged. "I have friends, but none I care about more than you. And there's nothing to do there. I mean, the town is called _Smallville_. That's worse than Little Whinging."

"I don't think _any_ name is worse than Little Whinging," Harry said fervently, and they both giggled. "Am I really your best friend?" he asked, hopeful yet clearly still feeling insecure.

She pulled him into another tight hug. "Of course you are, you jerk," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I have no idea why, but you are. No matter what was going on around me, I never forgot you and never stopped wanting to talk to you again."

"Thanks," he replied, holding her tight as well. As they stood there, hugging each other goodbye in the waning afternoon light, their connection strengthened a little more, allowing more energy to transfer between them before they pulled apart.

"I'll try to spend as much time as I can either in the park or working here," Harry said as they separated. "So look for me in those two places."

Kara nodded, not trusting her voice. Once he was gone, she ran into the bushes behind the house and made her way to a bus stop. Hythe End was a short ride to the west, and from there she jogged until she couldn't see or hear anyone close by. With that, she shot up into the sky, only turning to the west once she was high enough to avoid air traffic.

She wasn't as fast as her cousin — not yet at any rate — but she made it home in just two hours.

And it still wasn't fast enough not to get caught.

* * *

"Young lady, I have never in all my life been more disappointed in you," Martha Kent scolded, her tone conveying her disappointment even more than her words had managed. Both she and Jonathan were sitting across the kitchen table from Kara, who was staring down at her clenched fists. "You were grounded for a month for all the trouble you've been getting into and back-talking you've been doing, then what's the first thing you do? Run off!"

It was all Kara could do not to pound her fists into the table in anger, but she knew it had belonged to her great-grandmother, and she didn't want to break it.

"This behavior is getting out of hand," Jonathan said. "Your mother and I talked about it once we discovered that you'd run off, and we're both at our wits' end. You need discipline in your life, but you seem determined to break every rule there is, just because!"

 _Why do they have to treat me like this? I'm not a child!_

"What on earth was so important that you ran off like that?" Martha demanded. "Well?"

"I went to visit Harry, alright?" she shouted. "It was Harry! Are you happy now?!"

"Ha-Harry?" Martha asked, her anger evaporating at that unexpected answer.

"Why would you go off to see that boy when he doesn't want to have anything to do with you?" Jonathan asked.

"But that's just it, he does! He told me that he never got any of our letters! None of them!"

"Oh, my," Martha whispered, her hand over her mouth in shock.

"And what we tried to do for him didn't help!" Kara continued. "It made things worse, in fact. They work him all day but hardly feed him!"

"Oh, dear Lord," Jonathan exclaimed, putting his head in his hand. "I was afraid of that."

"Why now, dear?" Martha asked, gently putting a hand over one of Kara's clenched fists. "Why not sooner? Why not tell us first?"

Kara deflated slightly. "I've felt like I've been going slowly crazy these past couple of years, never hearing from him. And this morning, my first day of being grounded, well, I sorta snapped. I realized that since I was grounded, no one expected me to be anywhere to do anything, not for a while at least. And I knew that I could make it that far, unlike last summer. I've been working and exercising every day in the hope that I'd be able to manage sooner rather than later."

"And you got a chance to see him?" Jonathan asked.

Kara's fists relaxed slightly as she smiled for the first time. "Yes, he was outside working. It was hot, but he didn't mind. And he's grown, too! He's still shorter than me, but not by as much. He's really filling out!"

Martha looked at her husband and gave him a wan smile. "It was going to happen some day."

"They're a bit young!" he protested.

"They always are, the first time," Martha retorted. "Why, I remember my first..."

"What are you two talking about?" Kara asked, frowning.

"Nothing, dear," Martha said, patting her daughter's hand. "You'll understand someday. Now, I suppose it won't do us any good to forbid you to visit him again."

"But he needs me!" Kara whined.

"I'm sure he does," Martha said.

"Why don't you believe me? I'm his only friend, and he's certainly my best friend!"

Jonathan's eyes widened slightly at her declaration, and Martha held up one hand to stop any further protest. "It doesn't matter whether I believe it or not. What matters is that you do." Kara let out the breath she'd gathered to argue some more, then waited quietly while her parents seemed to have one of their silent, wordless conversations.

"This is what we're going to do," Jonathan finally said. "You still need to be grounded for your recent behavior, but if your behavior was caused by your worrying about that boy, then we'll consider reducing it — but _only_ if you demonstrate exemplary behavior from here on out."

"Afternoons will be spent on homework and chores," Martha continued. "But mornings we'll allow you to fly to visit him," Kara's attempt to jump up and cheer was quickly stopped by her mother's raised hand. " _After_ Clark confirms that you can do it safely."

"But I just did—" Kara tried to argue, but she was interrupted by her father.

"Doing it once does not mean you can consistently do it safely," he said. "We'll call Clark tomorrow to ask him when he can come and accompany you for a couple of flights back and forth. He probably won't be able to do it right away, since he's started a new job, so you'll have to wait until he has the free time for it. Do you understand?"

Kara took a deep breath and nodded. It wasn't entirely ideal, but it was better than she'd feared she'd get when she flew through her window and found her mother waiting for her. All she needed was Clark's stamp of approval for her long-distance solo flights, and she was sure she'd get it.

"Thanks, Ma! Thanks, Pa!" she exclaimed as she ran around the table and hugged them both tight. "I'll get started on dinner!"

The elder Kents looked at each other with bemused smiles as their daughter skipped out of the kitchen.

"Her attitude is already a lot better," Martha observed softly. "The surly, grumpy girl we've been living with for the past few months seems to be completely gone."

"I hate to admit it, but I think you're right," Jonathan said with a sigh.

"You're just annoyed that he's too far away to threaten."

Jonathan scowled. "He's what, nine? Ten? He's much too young. They both are, in fact."

"They're not too young for their first love," Martha said as she stood. "Kara certainly isn't. I was younger than her when I had my first crush! I wonder whatever happened to Tommy Miller, anyway." She paused for a moment, a faraway look in her eye, then shook her head. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm tempted to say that this probably won't last, but we don't know enough about her people to say for sure. Maybe this is normal for them?"

Jonathan's face softened slightly. "Perhaps. I guess we shouldn't be too quick to make assumptions from how Clark behaved at that age. He's always been a lot more restrained than her. I think he's always been a bit more afraid of what he might accidentally do with his powers. Kara, though..."

"Kara doesn't seem to know the meaning of the word 'restraint'," Martha finished. "Whenever she makes a decision, it's full speed ahead and damn the consequences. Visiting Harry is a good example of that." She shook her head. "That poor boy has no idea what he's in for, now that she can get to him whenever she wants."

"There's no sense in worrying about it, I suppose," Jonathan finally declared. "As you said, they're both young, so they're too young to do much of anything that we need to be concerned about."

* * *

Clark did indeed give his approval to Kara's ability to fly long distances, and the rest of the summer was spent pretty much like that first morning: several days a week she'd fly to Surrey, spend time sitting, walking, and talking with Harry, then fly back home to do chores or homework for the afternoon. Once school started she could only do it on weekends, but she still managed to make the trip four or five days a month.

Every time they were together, the connection between them strengthened. Every time, more of Harry's magic took root inside Kara while more of her power took root inside him. He never gave a second thought to how much more refreshed he was after spending a day working under the hot sun, and she never noticed odd little incidents that started happening around her, like her favorite clothes always fitting, even after she grew enough that her other clothes had to be replaced.

All that changed almost exactly one year after Kara and Harry rediscovered each other. It was a day of joy for Harry because he received his first Hogwarts letter, but it was a day of great sadness for Kara because it was the day that her father died of a heart attack. So grief-stricken was she that she was unable to make the trip to Surrey for another month, and by then, Harry was already gone.


	6. When Ivy Met Buffy (HP-Buffy Xover)

**When Ivy Met Buffy**

 **Summary:** After defeating Voldemort, Ivy Potter leaves Britain, unable to remain where so many friends died and where her heart had been broken. Since the Dursleys never took her anywhere, she decides to travel the world, starting with America, and along the way she meets a very interesting blonde who's been struggling with responsibilities and powers as great as her own.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Buffy: The Vampire Slayer

 **Pairing:** Ivy Potter/Buffy Summers

 **A/N:** I've long been a fan of _Buffy_ ; indeed, her role as the hero is part of what inspires my use of a female Harry in my own stories. So I have a lot of incentive to write this story, but I don't want to just rehash _Buffy_ episodes. I need some sort of new problem and goal for Ivy in order to disrupt the sequence of events in _Buffy_. I have some ideas for introducing Ivy to the Scoobies, and there's a lot of potential here with Buffy and her friends helping Ivy recover while Ivy helps Buffy get a better handle on her destiny, but I'm not sure if that's enough.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own _Buffy: The Vampire Slayer_ , Joss Whedon does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Chosen Ones**

 **Somewhere in California.**

It was the same dream again.

It was always the same dream, yet always different — a mixture of memories, good and bad, from seven years of friendship and adventures. That was all I had anymore, memories. Good and bad. I wouldn't trade them for anything.

But I'd give almost anything to be able to close my eyes and not have that dream, the same dream I'd been having every night for the past five weeks. Every night since I'd left Britain and started hitchhiking across America.

Especially since my dream always ended the same shitty way, just like my life in Britain had.

* * *

 _"You're a great witch, you know."_

 _"Not as great as you," I replied, feeling myself blush for some reason._

 _"Me! Books! And cleverness!" Hermione said. "There are more important things, like friendship and bravery and..." She trailed off for a moment, then wrapped me in a tight hug — the first hug I could ever remember having received._

 _"Oh, be careful, Ivy!" she said desperately._

 _When she held me tight like that, I felt a tingling all over that I wouldn't understand for several more years..._

 _._

 _..."I get it — you choose her," Ron spat out. My heart soared when Hermione nodded, but broke a little when Ron threw aside the locket and stormed out of the tent, abandoning us._

 _It broke even more when she spent every night crying over him, and I had no idea how to comfort her — at least not while keeping my own feelings a secret..._

 _._

 _..."How did you get into my vault, mudblood?" Bellatrix bellowed, and I could hear Hermione screaming. "Tell me! Tell me what else you stole or I'll carve you up into little pieces and feed you to Greyback!"_

 _"Hermione! No!" I cried out impotently. Her every scream tore through me like a knife, more painful even than when Voldemort put me under the Cruciatus curse..._

 _._

 _...The three of us were fighting our way through Hogwarts, helping the others while trying to get to the girls' bathroom so Ron and Hermione could get a basilisk fang from the Chamber of Secrets. Every so often I would take a quick look at Hermione out of the corner of my eye — her hair was a disaster, she had dirt and blood on her face, and her clothing was in tatters from the months we'd spent on the run._

 _Merlin, she was beautiful..._

 _._

 _...I didn't look back as I walked alone into the Forbidden Forest. She said she wanted to come with me, and I knew she would have, too, if I'd let her. But I couldn't. I was doing this for her — so that she could live and have a chance at a happy life. So she could live without being hunted or spat on._

 _I wrapped my arms around myself and fought back the tears as I tried to hold on to the memory of Hermione's hug goodbye, the last hug I'd ever get..._

 _._

 _..."She's dead, mudblood!" Voldemort taunted. "The Girl Who Lived is no more, and you're next!"_

 _"It... it doesn't matter!" Hermione replied. "It doesn't matter because we'll never stop fighting!"_

 _"If she couldn't beat me, what makes you think you stand any chance?" Voldemort said with a sneer. "_ _ **Avada Kedavra!**_ _"_

 _"No!" I shouted, pushing Hermione out of the way as I threw off my invisibility cloak. Voldemort gaped in shock at seeing me, alive and healthy, which gave me the time I needed to start hurling curses at him. I knew this would be our last fight, and I wasn't going to let him walk away, no matter what happened to me._

 _I'd already died once that day — what did it matter if I died again?..._

 _._

 _..."I... I'm sorry, Ivy," Hermione said in a hoarse whisper. "I had no idea you thought about me that way."_

 _"Of course you didn't," I said as my eyes burned. "I did everything I could to hide it. I know I don't deserve that kind of love from you — I just felt lucky that you were willing to be my friend."_

 _"No, Ivy!" Hermione protested, grabbing my hands in hers. Normally I'd have relished such contact, but now it was all I could do not to pull away. "That's not true. You do deserve to be loved like that. It's just... well, I can't be the one to give it to you. I... I mean, you're pretty and all, but..."_

 _"But you're not into witches," I finished._

 _"No," she whispered as she looked back down at her feet. "I'm sorry, Ivy."_

 _"Don't apologize," I said as I stood, and she allowed my hands to slip out of hers, allowed me to slip away as I took a couple of steps back and wrapped my arms around myself, hoping to hold in the tears of frustration and despair just a little longer. "Never apologize for who or what you are. Never apologize for who you do or don't love," I whispered._

 _I wanted to say more, so much more; but no words came to me, and I wasn't sure I'd even be able to speak without breaking down. So I just took a deep, shuddering breath before turning and walking away for the last time..._

* * *

"Hey!"

"Hey, kid!"

I felt a hand shaking my shoulder and bolted upright in my seat, looking around wild-eyed and only just barely avoiding having my wand shoot into my hand.

"You alright, kid?" the truck driver asked. "You were jerking around, moaning like you were in pain."

"Just a bad dream," I replied as I forced myself to breathe more evenly, trying hard not to think about how it had ended — both the dream and my life in Britain.

Everyone had called me a hero, just like when my parents had been murdered; but if I was the hero, where was my happy ending? Weren't heroes supposed to get a Happily Ever After with the girl? Or did that only apply to boy heroes?

"Some dream," the driver said, looking at me with more than a little pity. I hated being pitied, but he was one of the nicer ones who'd given me a ride, so I bit back the sarcastic reply that automatically came to mind and instead focused on my surroundings.

"What's wrong?" I asked when I noticed that we were no longer moving. "Why are we stopped?"

"Oh, well, I've got to start heading north at this point. If you still want to go to L.A., though, you'll need to head south."

"Is there a town nearby? It's getting late."

"Yeah, sorry about the late hour, but traffic in this state is absolute murder," the driver said, looking sincere. "The city limits are only just up ahead." I nodded and grabbed my bag before opening the door. "Hey, listen," he continued, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me. "I've, uh, heard some odd things about that town. I'm sorry about how late it is, but I recommend that you find a place to sleep as soon as possible. And don't stay too long. Move on to the next town as soon as you can — you'll be much safer in L.A."

I looked at him quizzically, wondering how this town could be more dangerous than Los Angeles, before nodding and jumping down from the cab of his truck. Slinging my bottomless backpack over my shoulder, I headed south towards the town and waved politely when I heard the truck driver blow his horn. After a couple of minutes, I was standing in front of a cheery yellow and blue sign that cast long shadows across the highway:

 **WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE**

 **Enjoy Your Stay!**

Sunnydale, huh?

I sighed as I readjusted the backpack and resumed walking into what looked like the quintessential California suburban town. It seemed like it was trying very hard to present a positive face to the world, but in the wake of the dream, it didn't put much of a dent in my mood.

I used to be the Girl Who Lived, and now I was the Witch Who Won. Inside, though, I felt more dead than alive because I'd lost the only thing that had really mattered to me. The phrase "Neither can live while the other survives" had always implied to me that if I'd managed to defeat Voldemort, then I'd finally be able to start living and enjoying a real life. For some reason, that hadn't happened. I was so lost in my own despair that I didn't think I'd ever find anything worth living for again.

Sunnydale, though.

Sunnydale had other ideas.

* * *

The more I walked, the antsier I grew, though I couldn't put my finger on why. There was something very wrong about the town, something that I started feeling soon after I'd passed the city limits. It hadn't been obvious at first, but after a bit I realized that there was something going on that seemed to be just beyond my senses. It felt like a faint buzzing at the back of my mind.

On some level I understood that it must have been magic, but it was unlike any magic I'd ever encountered before. There was something dark and dangerous about it, and I was tempted to hang around so I could learn more. Then I snorted and chastised myself for such thoughts, remembering the truck driver's warning and resolving to follow his advice about getting out of town as soon as possible. Whatever was going on, magically or otherwise, couldn't be good for my health.

Encountering so many graveyards in such a short span of time certainly didn't lift my spirits. Of the two experiences I'd had with graveyards in my life, one had been horrific enough to still give me occasional nightmares, while the other with Hermione _..._

No. Not going there.

 _Of the two experiences I've had with graveyards in my life, neither one bears thinking about right now,_ I told myself firmly. Those other two had nothing to do with Sunnydale — nothing to do with anything anymore, really.

But seriously, why would a town need so many graveyards?

It wasn't until well after the sun had set and I came upon the fourth graveyard that things started to get really strange. That's where I saw two people fighting: one a petite blonde girl and the other a really large, strong-looking bloke. I debated with myself about whether I should intervene in what appeared to be an amorous encounter gone wrong, but the whole "saving people" thing had gotten me into a lot of trouble over the years, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to get in the middle of other people's problems again.

I managed to walk a couple of steps in the other direction when the noise from the fight got my attention and I instinctively stopped to look back. I couldn't help but be impressed at how the little blonde was still struggling while being wrapped in a bear hug from the big bloke, but I could tell she wouldn't last much longer.

I sighed, knowing there was no way I could leave her to be assaulted — or worse — by that gorilla, so I walked back and hopped over the wall into the graveyard, dropping my backpack behind an old mausoleum. As I got closer, I started running because I realized that this wasn't just a simple case of a boyfriend refusing to take "no" for an answer.

That was a vampire she was fighting.

I may not have entered the auror training program like so many had expected, but I felt that as a witch I had some responsibility to protect muggles from magical threats which they couldn't possibly understand or defend themselves against. Being magical didn't give someone the right to bully or hurt people, whether muggle or not.

Knowing that I needed to do something didn't mean that I actually knew what to do, though. The best way to take down a vampire was with fire, but with the vampire now trying to choke the girl, I'd kill them both if I cast a fire spell — and that was assuming I wanted to risk breaking the Statute of Secrecy with such obvious magic. I also didn't know the laws in America very well and didn't want to run afoul of them. Nevertheless, I'd do it if I absolutely had to.

That's when I started hearing a soft, whispering voice. The first and last time I'd heard it was during the final battle at Hogwarts, telling me which spells to aim where. I'd hoped that maybe it had just been the stress. We were, after all, fighting for our lives after spending several months on the run with too little food and sleep. No such luck, though, because here it was again, telling me what to do.

 _"Sagittas Profundo! Aim for the heart."_

Hermione had warned me once that hearing voices was bad, even in the wizarding world, but I couldn't deny that the advice sounded appropriate. It wasn't like I had any better ideas, so I incanted softly, _"Sagittas Profundo,"_ and a wooden arrow shot out of my wand. It impacted the vampire in the back, right where I thought the heart should be, causing the dark creature to explode in a cloud of dust and leaving behind a very surprised young woman.

I let my wand return to my wrist holster as I approached her, hoping to find that she hadn't been bitten. She was about my age, shorter than me despite wearing heels, and carrying a wooden stake in one hand. Not exactly the normal sort of gear a girl carries on a date (not even when intending to sneak into a graveyard for a bit of snogging), but I never professed to understand Americans.

"Uh, thanks, Robin Hood," she said as she picked up the arrow, looking at my hands then at the ground behind me in confusion. "I could have handled it, though."

I raised one eyebrow as I looked down at the stake in her hand. "I'm sure you thought so. That's an odd sort of tool to carry around for self-defense. Is that an American thing, or just your own kink?"

She quickly tossed it behind her as if it had burned her. "Oh, I just found that here on the ground. But really, I had it handled. Lots of experience with handsy boyfriends."

I was about to politely inquire how often those boyfriends exploded into dust when I heard more hissing and growling that sounded ominously close. I looked around and realized that dozens more vampires were coming out of the woods and crypts that surrounded us.

The blonde saw the same thing and quickly picked the stake back up from the ground.

"You run, I'll take care of this," we said in unison. We then traded expressions that said equally clearly, _Are you crazy?!_

"No, really, I've got this," she insisted. I had to hand it to her, she did sound confident, even if her confidence was completely misplaced.

I snorted, thinking that there was no way that a muggle like her stood a chance against so many magically strong and magically fast vampires. Rather than say that out loud, though, I chose to be more diplomatic. I'm not nearly as bad as Ron, after all.

"Please, you're not even big enough to be an appetizer to one of these vampires. I, at least, know what I'm doing."

Given the look of outrage on her face, I guessed that my response hadn't sounded nearly as diplomatic as it had in my head. Maybe Ron had been more of a bad influence than I'd realized?

She finally found her voice and spluttered, "I may be short, but I... I... I'll have you know that I'm a lot stronger than I look! Great things come in small packages!"

I looked her up and down, finally noticing just how toned her muscles were... and the six pack she had peeking out from under the crop top she wore beneath her leather jacket. I shook my head, trying to banish the images that suddenly started racing through my mind. I doubted that I'd ever be ready to look at another girl that way, not after Hermione, and we had more pressing matters to deal with. "OK, I'll grant you that," I conceded, "but it's not going to do you much good against these idiots."

"Hey!" one of them complained, but we ignored him.

"Like you could do any better!" the little blonde girl retorted, her hands on her hips. "You're thin as a rail, with no muscle anywhere. On top of that, it doesn't look like you've slept or eaten for weeks! You wouldn't last five seconds against these morons, and then you'd barely qualify as a snack!"

I huffed indignantly at that and was about to respond when one of the vampires called out, "Excuse me!" We both looked at him, and I noted the annoyed look on his demonic face. "Um, we all came out here for a fight, not to listen to the two of you bitch at each other all night. Now are we going to do this, or what?"

"Fine with me," the blonde said, holding the stake in front of her while pulling out a second and shoving it in my direction.

"No, thanks," I said, letting my wand shoot into my hand and holding it out in casting position. "I've got my own."

For some reason, she found that funny and started sniggering.

"What?" I asked, feeling a bit self-conscious.

She gestured at my wand with her stake and said, "Are you sure you want to use that? Mine's, uh, a bit bigger."

"I'm just fine, thanks," I replied with a frown, then turned back to the vampires, many of whom were also sniggering. "And what are you lot laughing about?" I demanded.

"Her wood **is** bigger," one of them said, causing the rest to start laughing out loud. Even the girl started to giggle again.

"It's not the size that matters," I insisted, "it's how you use it."

"I've heard that before," the girl said under her breath. Before I could respond, she reached out and pulled my shoulder down, throwing the stake past me and into the chest of a vampire that had been sneaking up behind us. "And besides, I know how to use mine quite well."

"I'd say so," I responded, feeling new respect for her. Small though she may have been, she did seem to have some skills. But would they be enough to help me against such a large group of dark magical creatures?

"Sure you don't want one?" she asked as she pulled out yet another stake from her jacket. I was tempted to ask how many she had squirreled away in there, but movement behind her drew my eyes away from her clothing.

"I'm sure," I said, pulling her aside and incanting _"Incendio!"_ creating the magical equivalent of a flame thrower. That fire spell is normally only useful for a second or two because it can't be held for very long by most witches and wizards. I'm different, though. I've always been different, but I became a whole lot _more_ different during the final battle. I hadn't yet figured out why.

Regardless, I now had power to burn. Literally. A dozen vampires went up like Roman candles, filling the graveyard with a cloud of ash and dust.

The girl looked at the exploding vampires, then turned back to face me, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. "I know how to use mine quite well, too," I said to her, smirking just a little.

"Get them!" one of the uncooked vampires shouted. My fire had intimidated most of them enough to get them to back away, but whoever had called out managed to rally their courage, and they began advancing again.

"Shall we?" I asked.

"Let's," the blonde replied with a grin. "Make mine extra crispy."

And then we started destroying vampires. Most of the time we fought back-to-back, me lighting up the graveyard with fire and her staking individuals that got close. Even though we didn't know each other, we somehow managed to work together as if we'd been doing it for ages: when she saw a group large enough to overwhelm us, she'd call my attention to them; when I saw individuals that were closing quickly, I'd direct her to the approaching threat.

I'd only ever experienced that level of easy coordination with Hermione (not that I really wanted to think about that comparison), and once we were done the girl didn't look like she'd exerted herself at all. "I hate vamp dust," she said as she bent over away from me to shake out her hair, giving me an amazing and unexpected view of her rear.

"Uh, yeah," I mumbled, not really paying much attention to her rant about having to wash her hair again. "I've never fought so many at once for it to be an issue, though, to be perfectly honest." Merlin, did she _paint_ those pants on herself, or what?

"Oh, it's not, usually," she responded as she stood back up straight. I whipped my head around to look in another direction so I wouldn't be caught ogling her. "It's worse when they get burned, though. It creates ash to go with the dust. Really gritty ash, too. That's one reason why I prefer stakes."

"Oh, I, uh... sorry," I said, swallowing thickly and trying not to look at her. Blondes had never been my thing. Not even Fleur. So why was my stomach doing flip-flops? Why were my palms all sweaty?

"No, don't apologize, I appreciate the help," she said. "You did really well. I still think I could have handled them all, but it was definitely easier with you here."

"Thanks. You, uh, did a good job, too."

"Not too small, then?" she asked, putting her hands on her cocked hips and giving me the brightest smile.

"No, not too small," I said a little hoarsely, noting again how short she was. I'd always been the shortest student around, usually shorter even than those in the year below me, so it was a little weird talking to someone who seemed to be my age but whose head only came up to my eyebrows.

"So," she said hesitantly, "I'm guessing that was magic?"

"You know about magic?" I asked with a frown, and as I started to focus on her words rather than her looks, more questions started occurring to me. "And what did you mean, you _prefer_ stakes? You didn't seem at all surprised by all these vampires, so you must have done this before? But how?"

"That's a long story," she said. "I'm aware of the existence of magic, but I've never seen magic like what you did. My best friend is learning magic, and I'm pretty sure that she's never mentioned anything like that. If Willow even suspected that it was possible to magic up a flamethrower, she'd have been working on it by now."

"Oh?" I had no idea what to say to that. It seemed plausible that there were other sorts of magic than what I had learned, but I had never thought that America wouldn't be pretty similar to Britain. "Well... I'm British?"

"Really? I never would have guessed," she said, and I rolled my eyes. "No, really. Aside from the cute accent, you're nothing like what I'd expect from someone British. I know a British guy. He's all stuffy and tweedy. But you're... cute."

"Thanks," I mumbled, hoping it was dark enough to hide my blush as I ran one hand nervously through my short, black hair. No one had ever called me cute before. That was a compliment, right? It had to be better than tweedy, at least. I didn't even own anything in tweed.

"My name is Buffy," she said, holding out her hand.

"Ivy," I said, taking her hand and shaking it. Her grip was surprisingly strong. Or maybe not so surprising.

"I take it you're new in town? Normally people who've been here very long don't wander around the streets at night."

"Been hitchhiking across the country. I just walked into Sunnydale a little before sunset," I answered. "Haven't seen a hotel yet."

Buffy looked at me intently for a moment before she seemed to reach a decision. "Why don't you crash at my place tonight? I'm sure my mom won't mind."

"Oh, I don't want to impose..."

"It's no trouble! At least come by for a soda. If you still insist on finding a motel afterwards, I can drive you, then you won't have to wander around alone."

"OK," I finally said, realizing that it would make things a lot easier on me. I waved my wand and cast a silent summoning charm, causing my backpack to come flying from where I'd left it on the other side of the graveyard.

"Wow, that is handy," Buffy said with a glint in her eye.

"It can be," I agreed as I followed her. Under the street lights, I could see her a lot better and couldn't help but start checking her out — especially when I let her get ahead of me and could see her butt again.

It would be quite a while before I learned that she was doing the same thing to me.

* * *

"So, are you going to stay the night?" Buffy asked as I sipped my soft drink. When I didn't answer, she continued, "My mom will be really disappointed if you don't. She'll give you her patented Sad Mom Face, making you feel guilty for days and days. She's really an expert at it — I should know."

I snorted. "OK, fine, I'll stay."

"Good, because I'm pretty sure she's already making up the guest room for you."

I just rolled my eyes. Joyce Summers reminded me of Molly Weasley in so many ways — I hadn't been in the house for five minutes before I knew that she wouldn't be letting me out of there to go to a hotel that night. She fussed over me as if I were her own daughter, despite not knowing me, and made all sorts of disapproving noises about me leaving my home to hitchhike alone across a foreign country. She wasn't overbearing, but I still appreciated it when Buffy pulled me outside so we could sit on the steps of their back porch and finally have that soft drink.

"We should probably talk about what happened," Buffy said after the silence started getting awkward.

"Probably, but I don't know how much I can tell you. There are some things I'm not really supposed to tell others. Though, the fact that you already know about the existence of magic probably helps."

"Ditto," Buffy replied. "You saw what I can do, so I can probably tell you more than I would otherwise be allowed to."

"So either we both break some rules, or this is going to be a really short and unsatisfying conversation."

"I don't know about you, Ivy, but I've never been very good about following the rules."

"My Head of House said the same about me more than once," I commented, smiling at some of my more pleasant memories.

"Head of House? Is that anything like a Watcher?"

"Could be," I said with a shrug. "Though she wasn't very successful at keeping an eye on me."

"Well, I'll start," Buffy said after another silence. "My name is Buffy Summers. I'm the Slayer. That means I've been chosen by Fate or Destiny or something to protect humanity by killing vampires and demons. There was even a prophecy about me. I'm supernaturally strong, supernaturally fast, and supernaturally tough."

"You're the Slayer?" I asked, surprise and wonder filling my voice. "I wasn't sure if that was just a legend or not."

"You've heard about me?" she asked quizzically. "I didn't think that anyone outside the Watcher's Council knew about Slayers.

"Yeah, I... well, no, Her... uh, a friend of mine read about the Slayer in _Vampires: a History_ , and told me about it."

"Where would you get a book like that?" Buffy asked.

"In the library of a magical school," I answered, thinking back to happier times spent studying in the library with Hermione. "I'm afraid I don't remember much of what she said, but I always thought it was really impressive that a young girl could do such amazing things. It was... it was kinda inspirational, to think that there was another girl out there, somewhere, who was not only carrying such a burden, but doing it successfully." Whenever I started feeling overwhelmed by what I was facing, I'd think about her, the Slayer, fighting single-handedly against hordes of vampires and demons. It helped me realize that if she could stand and fight, then surely I could as well.

It almost looked like Buffy blushed for a moment before her brow furrowed. "Another?" she asked. "So what's your story?"

I sighed, not really sure how much I should tell her. I certainly didn't want to tell her my life story, but for some reason she was willing to trust me with some things about herself that I was sure she was supposed to keep secret. The least I could do was show her a similar amount of trust. "I'm Ivy Potter, a witch. I used to be a student at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland."

"Hogwarts?" she asked, scrunching up her nose. "Sounds like a nasty skin condition."

"I suppose so," I said with a smile, "but it's a beautiful castle located in the middle of beautiful countryside." I then paused and frowned. "At least, it _was_ beautiful."

"What happened?"

"War," I said softly. "Magical war. It... wasn't pretty. So many people hurt, so many deaths. I was the subject of a prophecy, too."

Buffy slid across the step, putting her much closer to me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head and set my glass down. I didn't feel like drinking it anymore. Except for the dreams about Hermione, I'd managed to avoid thinking about the final battle, the prophecy, the deaths, the destruction... my own death. I wasn't really ready to face those memories again. Not yet, at least. It was much too soon.

"That's OK," she said as she put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "But if you do want to talk, I'll be here. I know what it's like."

I looked up into her bright, blue eyes and could see that she was telling the truth. Outside of those who had been through the war in Britain with me, I didn't think I'd ever run across anyone who could understand what I'd gone through. Who could understand what it was like to struggle under the weight and responsibilities of a prophecy. Who could understand what it was like to have friends follow me into battle despite my best efforts to convince them to stay away from me for their own safety.

But when I looked into those eyes, I saw someone who might be able to understand.

Maybe it was worth staying a while in Sunnydale after all. I mean, how bad could it be?


	7. The Potter Ultimatum (HP-Bourne Xover)

**The Potter Ultimatum**

 **Summary:** Janet Bourne is starting to get her memories back - memories that include a gangly red-headed boy with a rat and a bushy-haired girl waving a stick in the air. Memories that include her and other kids doing utterly impossible things that can't be real, can they? Who is she, really, and what happened to her? FemHarry (Violet Potter).

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Bourne Movies

 **Pairing:** Undecided

 **A/N:** I love the Bourne movies (at least the ones with Matt Damon), and I loved the Bourne books when I was younger. I think this story has real potential, but I won't seriously look at continuing it until at least seeing the next movie, and possibly after rereading the original trilogy again. My inclination is to make this a Violet/Nicky story, with the two of them trying to recapture what they briefly had in Paris, possibly alongside returning memories of Violet having a bit of a crush on Hermione back in school while Hermione works to teach Violet magic again. So, lots of personal drama alongside political drama and dangers - that's a big reason why I think this has potential.

It would also be the only Harry Potter/Bourne crossover here!

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own the Bourne characters, Robert Ludlum's estate and Universal Pictures do.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Extreme Memories  
**

 **CIA Deep Cover Anti-Terrorism Bureau, 104 West 40th Street, New York City.**

"Pamela Landy speaking."

"I hear you're still looking for me."

"Bourne?" She grabbed Janet Bourne's file from the stack on her desk, painfully aware of how thin it was.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to thank you... for what you did. For the tape. And for not taking things into your own hands when you had the chance. It's over now, and I owe you an apology."

"Is that official?"

"No. Off the record. You know how these things are. But speaking for myself, personally, I am sorry. I made assumptions and overreacted." There was an unusually long pause at the other end, and Landy was about to say something else before Bourne finally responded.

"Fine. Goodbye."

"Wait. Wait. Potter. That's your real name, Violet Potter." Landy looked down at the top paper with Bourne's photo and what little personal information they'd apparently been able to gather back when she joined Treadstone. Even then, she'd been an enigma. Landy focused briefly on the woman's birthday, July 31, 1981, and made a split-second decision. "You were born 4-15-81 in Godric's Hollow, Great Britain." She paused for a moment as she considered how little anyone at the CIA had ever known about Potter or her background. "I'd like it if you came in so we can talk about the information we have on you. Your history. I'd like to help, if I can. I owe you that, too. Bourne?"

"Get some rest, Pam. You look tired."

Landy spun around in her seat, eyes wide as she looked out through the wall of glass behind her and at the skyscrapers beyond. _She's here... she's right here, and she's been watching me!_

She turned back and once more looked down at a file she'd long since memorized. There was something about it that bothered her, though she hadn't been able to quite put her finger on why. The more she'd studied it, the more certain she'd become that Potter had concealed something significant about her background when she joined the program.

 _What were you hiding? Why did they even accept you when they knew so little about you?_

She slapped the file closed, knowing that she wouldn't find any more answers there. The puzzle simply had far too many missing pieces. She'd laid out her bait and now had to wait to see if she could get more pieces that way. Abruptly standing, she grabbed her coat and pulled it on. "Bourne's here, somewhere," she finally said to her assistant, Tom Cronin, who'd been waiting there patiently the entire time. "I'm going to go out and hope that she'll contact me."

"What was that thing with the date, though?"

"The training center," Landy explained. "If Bourne doesn't contact me, she'll go there."

Tom grimaced in anticipation of being put on trial for treason, but gamely pressed on. "Want me to come with you?"

"No, she's more likely to contact me if I'm alone. I want you here to keep an eye on things. Call me if anything happens." She left without waiting for a response and was soon on the street in front of her building. She stood in the bustling sidewalk for a few long moments, only then realizing that she hadn't had a plan beyond getting out of her office. It had been a good plan... but now what?

That was when her phone buzzed, and she received a text from Bourne, demanding a meeting. She didn't hesitate to flag down a cab, which whisked her away before she could see the men who came running out of the building, scrambling into cars to get there ahead of her.

* * *

Janet Bourne descended the steps two and three at a time as she returned her equipment to her bag. She slowed briefly as she considered what she'd just learned. The date was surely a code of some sort, one which she'd have to figure out later, but the name... "Violet Potter?" she whispered. "Violet Potter." She paused in her descent and said the names slowly, tasting the syllables as if they were an unfamiliar food. There was something warm, even comforting, about them.

"Who am I?" she asked as she stared at her reflection in a window, repeating a question she'd asked herself a thousand times in a dozen different languages.

"My name is Violet Potter."

And it was. Somehow, she _knew_ it was. Landy had told her the truth, confirming her decision to trust the woman. Or trust her as much as she'd ever trust anyone working for the CIA.

Pain erupted behind her eyes and she had to lean against the wall to steady herself as a memory flashed in her mind. She was in a train compartment with two children - a boy with red hair and a girl with bushy brown hair - saying to them, "Hi, I'm Violet Potter." It was her voice, yet not. It sounded... British, for some strange reason.

She pressed her fingers against her eyes in an effort to drive away the pain. She was used to memory flashes, but this was only the second time she'd had one from her childhood. At least, she assumed it was her childhood, judging from her relative size and squeaky voice. The first hit immediately after Landy had apologized, overwhelming her with an image of a gangly boy with red hair - possibly the same one, though a bit older - trying to apologize for something. These new memories seemed to confirm her identity, especially coming as they did after learning her name, but their timing was damned inconvenient.

Shaking her head and berating herself for getting distracted, she quickened her pace again and soon emerged on the street. Looking around the corner, she saw Landy standing outside the CIA building, as expected. A press of a button sent the prepared text, and less than a minute later Landy was gone, several government cars following along. Bourne crossed the street, hidden in the crowd, and entered the same building which the others had just exited. She had files to steal - files that would hopefully allow her to destroy the people who dared chase and threaten her.

They'd have been safe if they'd only left her alone, but if they wanted to make war on her, she'd damn well make war right back. And she'd win.

* * *

Bourne probably shouldn't have been surprised that breaking into Noah Vosen's personal safe wouldn't be so easy. Had the man simply cooperated and answered the phone with his full name, she'd have all his dirty little secrets and be on her way out of the building already. Instead he simply answered with a curt "Vosen," leaving her without any means for getting through the voice lock on his safe.

It probably hadn't been wise to taunt him by saying that if he'd been in his office, they'd be having their conversation face-to-face. She hadn't been able to help herself - he simply pissed her off too much. Now, though, she was almost out of time and didn't know what to do.

She stared at the safe for several moments, wishing for a way to unlock it. She was about to give up and call the op a loss when another memory flash hit. She was with those two kids again, and the red-haired boy was pounding on a heavy wooden door. It was locked, and they needed to get out. She felt scared. There was a threat nearby, but she couldn't see it. The bushy-haired girl pulled the boy aside, waved a stick at the lock, and said, _"Alohamora!"_ The door clicked open, allowing them to run through, and she barely caught a glimpse of a giant three-headed dog as they slammed the door closed again.

Bourne blinked a couple of times, unable to believe what she'd just seen. She was accustomed to memory flashes that were too disjointed or had too little context to be understood, but this was the first time she'd remembered something that was _impossible_. For some reason, though, it also felt _right_. She focused on the safe again and said, "Alohamora."

Nothing happened. _Do I need a stick or something?_ she wondered.

"Alohamora!" she said again, a bit louder this time.

Still nothing happened.

Getting desperate and keenly feeling the need to get at whatever dirt Vosen was hiding in there, she knelt in front of the safe, placed both hands on it, and whispered strongly, _"Alohamora!"_

Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the locks click and the door swung open. She didn't pause to think about how unbelievable that was - she simply grabbed all the files out of the safe and stuffed them in her bag as she hurried out of the room.

She hadn't even reached the end of the hall before she heard distant gunshots. Vosen had alerted his people. They were coming.

She was being hunted again.

But she was a predator herself and knew how to hunt, too. While looking for Vosen's office, she'd figured out Landy's coded message, so she had a target as well. Or a location, at least, and she hoped her target would be there. An older man with a deep voice whom she'd seen in several of her worst memory flashes from what she assumed was her early training in Treadstone.

He'd pushed her to do unspeakable things. She really, _really_ wanted to have a chat with him.

* * *

 **Crawley, Great Britain.**

Hermione Granger blew on her drink before taking a careful sip, enjoying afternoon tea with her parents. She didn't often get a chance to spend time with them during the week like this and was relishing it all the more because of that. A casual glance to the stack of newspapers on the coffee table revealed the day's edition of the _Guardian_ , its front page emblazoned with a story about one of their own star reporters being murdered in the middle of Waterloo Station. She picked it up and idly skimmed the article, not having heard about the incident in the wizarding press.

"It's so terrible, what happened to that poor man," her mother said. "It's been all over the news."

"It's like something you'd expect to see in a movie," her father chimed in.

As Hermione read, she learned that Simon Ross had been investigating someone named Janet Bourne, an alleged CIA assassin who was believed to have been involved in the reporter's death and was being sought for questioning. She flipped the paper over to continue reading and gasped. Her teacup tumbled from her fingers, spilling hot liquid all over the floor.

"Hermione!" her father exclaimed in alarm. "What's the matter?"

Her hands trembled as she slowly set the paper in her lap. One finger traced the lines of a grainy image of a woman with black hair and wearing a baseball cap. According to the caption, it was a still taken from a surveillance camera at Waterloo Station and was believed to be Janet Bourne, right after Ross' assassination.

"Violet," she whispered.

* * *

 **New York City.**

While Hermione Granger was thinking about her long-lost friend, that same friend was grimacing in pain as she experienced another memory flash of a bushy-haired girl waving a stick around. "It's LeviOHsa, not LeviohSA!" the girl was saying this time. Her bossy, condescending tone was almost enough to make Bourne's headache worse, but she had far more important things to worry about.

Her pistol was empty and she was currently taking cover behind a car in a parking garage. If there had been one or two opponents, she would have simply gotten in close and taken them out. Instead, she was facing four of them, all well-armed and well-trained. Too many to eliminate that way in a relatively open area. She didn't have much time to come up with an alternative, either, because soon one or more would move to flank her, cutting off her remaining exits.

She had been wishing for a way to eliminate their cover and send them running when the memory hit her. The last time she'd been hit with a memory of that little girl, she was wishing for a way to get into a locked safe - and the memory had provided her with the means for doing so.

Not having any better ideas, she peeked around the edge of the car, stretched out one hand, and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The car which the four gunmen were taking cover behind seemed to rock slightly, and the shooting paused. Feeling emboldened, she said with a bit more force, "Wingardium Leviosa!" This time the car definitely rocked. She was still certain that this was completely impossible, but she was also just as certain that it would work.

For some reason, the phrase "swish and flick" kept intruding on her concentration, but she ignored it so she could place all of her focus on the car.

 _"_ _ **Wingardium Leviosa**_ _!"_

The car weighed over a thousand pounds, but it lifted up off the concrete as if it were a feather and tumbled slowly in the air towards the CIA operatives behind it. They all scurried away, shouting in surprise and fear. The car suddenly fell to the ground with a crash just as a police cruiser arrived, disgorging two NYPD officers who rushed to arrest the injured and confused men.

Janet Bourne had always been extraordinarily lucky, getting out of situations with few or no injuries when most operatives would have died several times over. Marie had concluded that it was Janet's specialized training, combined with an almost inhuman focus on getting a job done, which allowed her to survive and excel in so many deadly situations. But maybe Marie had been wrong? Janet Bourne was certainly well-trained and lucky, but there was clearly something more going on with Violet Potter. Something impossible, yet also real.

She chose to save that line of thinking for later and dove for the open door of the police cruiser. She needed a fast exit, and the police had unwittingly presented her with one.

* * *

 **415 West 81st Street, New York City.**

"I was wondering when you'd arrive."

She barely kept her rage under control as she aimed her pistol at the head of the man she blamed for who and what she was. Based on the fragments of memory that had returned to her so far, he had been in charge of the program that had turned her into this. It had all been his idea, and he had personally been involved in every step of her training.

Torture and dehumanization would have been more accurate labels.

"I've been following your career with some interest," Dr. Hirsch continued. Every word he spoke grated on her nerves. His calm, smug attitude only served to make her angrier. "Though these past couple of weeks have been particularly exciting. Dark and difficult, yes, but exciting."

She squeezed her eyes in pain as another forgotten memory hit. This time, instead of kids, she saw an old man with a large nose and an impossibly long beard looking sadly at her over half-moon glasses. He was admitting to sentencing her to several dark and difficult years. He had some excuse that she didn't understand and doubted she'd accept even now.

Bourne shook her head so she could focus on the here and now, then looked questioningly at the man currently in front of her, trying to imagine him with a long beard.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, seeming to pick up on her confusion.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded.

"Do what?"

"You know! This! Me!"

"So, it is indeed all coming back to you," he said as he pulled out an ID card and used it to open the door behind him. "I was afraid of that," he added softly as he entered the room, completely ignoring the pistol she was holding to his head.

"Well?" she asked.

"This is where it all began," he explained, gesturing with one hand around a room that she recognized from her returning memories. Memories of brutality and death. "This is where we first talked. Where I explained the program to you."

"But why me?" she interrupted. "Why did you bring me here in the first place?"

He frowned for a moment before replying, "You came to us, wanting to forget your past. To forget who you were. You told me you never wanted to hear your name again. You eagerly volunteered when I explained that once you signed up, everything about you, everything you were, would be so completely suppressed that Violet Potter would forever cease to exist."

She gaped in surprise, and the pistol wavered slightly. _I expected him to be a monster who had kidnapped me so he could turn me into a soulless killer, but if I actually volunteered... if I actually came into this willingly, with my eyes open..._

He smiled now, as if he took pleasure from her distress. "Most candidates balked at the prospect of becoming a weapon against our enemies, regardless of how committed they were to saving lives, but for some reason that never bothered you. I always wondered about that. More than once I wanted to ask what happened to you that would make you so resigned to becoming a tool, a weapon against terrorists and other villains, but in the end it didn't matter. You were willing and capable, and that was all that counted."

She backed away from him, feeling sick. _What was my life like, that I actually thought he would provide me with something_ _ **better**_ _? If I thought he was a means to escape something worse, do I even want my old memories back anymore?_

"Some objected to taking you in, given how little we knew about you," Hirsch said, continuing to smile, "but I felt that your determination to become a new person would be an asset in our efforts to recreate you. It's not easy to break a person, but when they _want_ to be broken, the process is so much more effective. And I was proven right. This wasn't our first foray into behavior modification, but you were the first product of this particular program. And you were our best, too. We created a brand-new person with a brand-new personality, one suited to our needs. One that followed orders. You performed spectacularly - at least until you apparently started to get your old memories back. Sadly, I don't think we can perform the treatments again. No, the only option remaining to us is to eliminate the broken asset and learn from its failures."

His eyes flicked to the door, and she raised her pistol again as she instinctively moved to a position where she could cover both him and the door at the same time. Through the small window she saw the other operative she'd let live earlier. Perhaps that had been a mistake? If so, she'd find out soon enough.

The operative started shooting out the lock to get to them. Despite knowing that she had little time, she brought her hand back and pistol-whipped Hirsch across his temple. She wouldn't kill him, but that didn't mean he deserved to be left unscathed. Even if she _had_ volunteered for the program, that didn't absolve him of responsibility for creating and running it. It didn't absolve him of responsibility for the torture he'd put her through. Her and how many others?

She made it out of the room a scant few seconds before the other operative got through the first door. He was good, very good, and managed to chase her through the training center until they were both on the roof. She stood at the edge, inches away from a dive into the East River and freedom, but he was behind her with a pistol aimed at her back.

"Why did you let me live?" he asked abruptly, shifting his grip on his gun slightly. "Why didn't you take the shot when you had the chance?"

She turned and gave him a half smile, having a good idea of the confusion he was going through. She had been like him, once. It seemed like a lifetime ago. "Do you even know why you're supposed to kill me?" she asked. He frowned, clearly not understanding yet how that answered his question. "Look at us. Look at what they make you give." Slowly, he lowered his pistol. A glimmer of comprehension crossed his face as she turned back to the edge of the roof.

She didn't hear Noah Vosen's approach, but she heard the gunshot as she jumped. She definitely felt the impact of the bullet in her back as she tumbled into the river.

* * *

 **Location: Unknown.**

"That was Pamela Landy, testifying before the Senate today about the Treadstone and Blackbriar projects at the CIA which resulted in multiple assassinations around the world over the past several years and the arrest of nearly a dozen senior CIA officials over the last two days. According to some of the documents found in the possession of CIA Director Ezra Kramer, these projects and their activities were approved at the highest levels of the U.S. government. More arrests are expected in the coming week.

"One of the most important figures in this story, Janet Bourne, was reportedly shot as she jumped into the East River a week ago. According to our sources, this was after a running battle through the CIA facility where she was trained several years ago. So far, after two weeks of searching, her body has not been recovered. Experts say that it's virtually impossible for anyone to have survived that fall, even if they hadn't been shot."

Nicky Parsons watched the news broadcast and smiled, knowing that if they didn't find a body, then Janet was still alive. After a few moments, her smile turned wistful as her mind wandered, taking her back to happier times of living in Paris and being in love. She wondered if she'd ever feel that way again.

* * *

 **CIA Deep Cover Anti-Terrorism Bureau, 104 West 40th Street, New York City.**

"Pamela Landy speaking."

"I understand you're the one in charge of the search for Janet Bourne."

"Yes, I... wait, who are you? How did you get this number?" Landy signaled Tom to start a trace on the call. Few people had her cell number, and none were women with a British accent.

"I saw you on TV, testifying a couple of weeks ago. Did you really know her?"

"I don't think anyone truly knew her," Landy said slowly as Tom spoke to the people who monitored communications in and out of the building. "I did meet her, though. And we talked a few times." There was a long pause, then she continued, "Why are you asking about Janet Bourne? What is your interest in her?"

"What do you know about Violet?" the mystery woman asked.

"How do you know that name?" Landy asked tightly, unable to completely hide her reaction. Janet's real name hadn't been released to the media, and as far as she knew only a handful of people on the planet were aware of it.

"So, you do know her. You weren't lying."

"If you know that name, we need to talk." Landy insisted, looking at Tom expectantly. He shook his head, telling her that the trace wasn't complete.

"Did she trust you?"

Landy hesitated. That was a tricky question which didn't have an easy answer. Finally, she said, "Yes, I think so."

"Then I'll trust you, too. I'll call back tomorrow with a place we can meet."

"Wait, why are you so interested in her?" Landy asked, desperate for any scrap of information. "If this were an official inquiry, you'd have reached out to me through channels. So this is something personal, isn't it? You knew her. But how?"

"Violet and I grew up together," the woman said. "She disappeared shortly after we graduated school, and I've been looking for her for a long, long time. She's... she's a good person. I don't know what's happened to her, but she's a good person. She's not a murderer."

Landy's skin tingled at the prospect of being so close to what she'd been anxious to learn. "She's not easy to track down - not when she doesn't want to be found. But maybe we'll do better together."

"I'd like that," came the reply, then the call ended.

"Did you get anything?" she asked. "Tell me you got something. You should have had plenty of time."

Tom frowned in annoyance as he set his handset down. "There was some sort of interference that slowed us down. We think the call came from New York City, but that was all we could get."

"Keep this quiet. I don't want anyone else to know we have a lead on the Bourne investigation." She looked down at the thin file, tapping it with her finger as a smile slowly spread across her face. "I've got a good feeling about this."


	8. Glitch in the Matrix

**Glitch in the Matrix**

A response to reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge.

 **Summary:** Harry Potter is informed by his afterlife caseworker that he has died. Again. He's died so often, in fact, that he'll only get one last chance to get things right. Poor Harry, though — the afterlife is nothing at all like what he'd expected, and things don't go anywhere close to how he'd planned when she finally arrives in the past. But she'll make the best of it, she swears.

 **Pairing:** Harry-ish/Hermione

 **A/N:** No, this is not a crossover with _The Matrix_ films, though there are occasional Matrix-related references and jokes. Yes, this challenge has been done to death (pun intended), but I'd like to think that I'll be able to add enough interesting twists and turns to prevent it from being boring. Maybe this is the story's last chance to get it right?

This story owes a bit of inspiration to _Jamie Evans and Fate's Fool,_ one of my all-time favorite stories here. The Mad Mad Reviewer is the only writer I know of who has written something similar to this, though my story would be very different. Unfortunately, I'm not sure exactly how I would progress with it, so I'm not certain that it will be written. Since it would likely be classified as "humor," though, I might not have to worry so much about avoiding cliches.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

This will be the last addition to the Fluffle for a while. I have several more, but after taking a break next Tuesday I'll start publishing the next Witches of SHIELD story: _Iris Potter and the Exile from Asgard_. Additions to the Fluffle will probably resume after that is done.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - This Will Feel... A Little Weird**

I opened my eyes without remembering ever having closed them. Had I blinked? Had I fallen asleep? I couldn't tell. Looking around made me even more confused. I found myself in a cavernous, pure white room: white seats, white floor, white walls, everything. It looked like a waiting room, though larger and whiter than any I'd ever seen before. The only things not blindingly white were the occupants, like me. Everyone was dressed differently, and when I looked down at myself I found that I was wearing familiar clothes — though I couldn't seem to place them.

Despite my confusion, I found I wasn't particularly upset. No one else looked upset, either. Everyone seemed calm. Peaceful. Completely content despite being in such a strange place. I heard soft tones off in the distance, and after focusing on them I concluded that it was some sort of elevator music. I hadn't ever been in many elevators (at least I didn't think I had), but the music definitely sounded like what I thought elevator music would be.

And as soon as I realized that I couldn't tune it out, I started getting antsy.

As I fidgeted, I tried looking around again in the hope of figuring out where I was. It wasn't long before I realized that there was something else odd and colored in this incredibly white location: cats. As soon as I noticed one, I started seeing them all over. Cats strolled through the room, and many looked as though they were going somewhere with a purpose. Cats sat and cleaned themselves on the far counter. Long haired, short haired. Ginger, black, and white. Striped and spotted. Everywhere, cats.

I shuddered slightly at the reminder of Umbridge's office, thankful that whoever had done the decor here had chosen white instead of pink.

Every once in awhile, I heard a name called out from somewhere, echoing throughout the room, and someone would get up and leave through a door on the far wall. The room never seemed to get any emptier, and I concluded that more must be coming in to take the freed-up seats, though I didn't see anyone enter.

"Harry Potter?"

I leapt up from my seat, wondering why it hadn't occurred to me to get up and walk around before, and I made my way towards the far door. The cats on the counter looked intently at me as I passed, which I probably should have thought more about. It seemed that I hadn't been thinking about anything carefully, not until I went through the door and found that no one was there.

No human, at least.

A cat was sitting there, which didn't strike me as odd anymore, but I didn't see anyone else. I didn't know much about cats, but I think it might have been Siamese. As I stared down the impossibly long, impossibly white hallway, I had the strong sense that there was supposed to be someone there to greet me. I turned around to go back, only to find the door closed and locked.

"Come along," said a bored voice, and I whipped back to see who had spoken. The hallway was still empty of anything save the cat, now walking away from me, its tail flicking back and forth in the air. After a few feet it stopped and turned around, it's eyes narrowed. I could see its mouth moving as I heard the same voice again, a little sharper this time. "What are you waiting for, Christmas?"

I gaped at the cat, completely dumbfounded.

It shook its head in what looked like exasperation. "We go through this every time. I'm frankly amazed that Agent Crookshanks has been able to put up with you for such long periods. I only ever see you for an hour or two at most, and even then only every few years, but you still manage to try my patience."

"Wha—?"

"Look, we don't have all day, kid," the cat informed me, and it sounded annoyed. "Are you going to follow me, or do you want to spend the rest of eternity waiting in limbo? It's not a pleasant place, let me tell you. The music alone will probably drive you insane within a century."

I closed my eyes and shook my head hard; when I opened them again, the cat was still there and looked even more irritated than before. I wasn't sure that this wasn't a dream, but it wasn't acting like any dream I remembered ever having.

"Uh, follow you? I guess?" I responded. It sounded stupid even to me, but you try holding a conversation with a talking cat and let me know if you do any better.

It rolled its eyes and started off again; this time I decided to tag along. I was starting to want answers, and so far, the cat was the only... thing? Person? Well, whatever it was, I hadn't encountered any other likely source for information.

After a long hike through a hall that didn't seem to have an end, no matter how hard I tried to peer into the distance, the cat finally stopped and used its shoulder to push one of the many identical doors. When I entered behind it, I found myself in a very white, very boring-looking office. The only color was supplied by a pair of old, worn, red leather armchairs.

"Uh, who — or what — are you?" I asked as soon as I was seated and the cat was up on the desk, looking at a file.

"My name is Morris — I'm your caseworker."

"But... you're a cat," I insisted.

"Well spotted. Now, we need to discuss your—"

"But... but... a cat!" I tried to insist again, hoping to get some answers.

Instead, it rolled its eyes at me once more. "Indeed. I'm glad to see that you're still able to grasp the essentials. I guess Riddle's explosive curse to your head didn't do too much damage."

"Cat!" I exclaimed, pointing a finger at it. In my head, at least, that seemed to be a perfectly sensible argument for why this was a crazy situation that someone should start explaining, pronto.

Apparently the cat didn't think my reasoning to be nearly so incisive, judging by the withering look it gave me.

"No, not too much damage at all," Morris said, definitely sounding sarcastic now. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get down to business here. We have a lot to cover."

"But... but..." I wasn't about to give up now.

"Fine! If it will make you feel better, I'll explain. Again. Yes, I'm a cat. If you'd read your mythology, you'd have learned that cats are guardians of the afterlife. That's where you are, by the way: the afterlife. Yes, you died. Yes, it was pretty messy. What you're experiencing right now is what we guardians are tasked with doing for all eternity: spend long, boring hours dealing with boring people who don't understand why they died or what's happening to them next."

"I died?" That was a lot more important than even talking cats.

"Yes, you did. Like I said, Riddle killed you. As soon as you jumped up in front of everyone, revealing that you'd been playing dead, he decided to try again. This time, though, he chose to do it in a way that ensured you'd stay dead. It was the first smart thing he'd done in quite a while, in fact. Anything else you'd like to get off your chest, sport?"

"Uh... why cats?"

"Aside from the fact that we're a superior species? Apparently, you humans accept death more easily when there's a cat present. It's probably due to our aforementioned superiority, though quite a few of you insist on hugging and scratching us for comfort. While others in this department are rather tolerant of such behavior, I personally find it demeaning, so don't even try it. Now, are there any more questions, or can we **finally** get to work?"

I simply shook my head. Had I been honest, I'd have rattled off a dozen or so questions, but the cat had started showing its teeth, and I had a feeling that I was on thin ice with it. Or him. Had he been fixed? I really didn't want to ask that.

"Good. You're quite the problem child, did you know that?" I shook my head again. "Well, you are. This is the eighth time you've been here. That's not merely a record for me personally, but for any other caseworker on this level. You're quite the topic of conversation around the water bowl."

"But I—"

"No, you wouldn't remember any of the previous seven. We don't let people keep their memories when we send them back in time to try again." The cat used one claw to open a folder that contained a large stack of papers. I had a sneaking suspicion that they were about me, given the way the cat shook its head sadly every so often.

"Oh? Does this—"

"No, it doesn't happen often, only with people who have a great destiny that they keep screwing up." The cat gave me a pointed look.

"But I—"

"Yes, you made Riddle mortal, allowing someone else to kill him (and thank you for that), but that wasn't all you were supposed to do. What, did you think that this one measly task was going to be the highpoint of your life?"

"Hey!" I said rather loudly. "How is it that you're answering my questions before I ask them? Are you reading my mind?"

The cat sighed. "Eighth time, remember? You and I have been through all this before. Over and over. You aren't very original."

"Oh. So what—"

"For one thing, you were supposed to get together with your soulmate. She would have ensured that you had an easier time defeating Riddle, not to mention helping you reshape Wizarding Britain afterwards."

"Soulmate? Who—"

"Someone named Granger," the cat said, continuing to use one claw to flip through the file. "She's handled by a different caseworker, and Agent Crookshanks' reports are sent to a different department entirely, so I don't know much about her."

"But she's—"

"Your best friend. Yeah, I've heard. Didn't anyone ever tell you that best friends can make the best long-term romantic partners? Even dogs know that, and they're hardly paragons of intellectual prowess."

"Hah! That isn't what I was going to say!" I exclaimed, jumping out of my seat and pointing at the cat again. "I was going to say that she's like my **sister**! See, you don't know everything!"

Morris smirked — smirked! I didn't know cats could do that. Not even McGonagall's cat form ever did that. Then he reached over to the side of its desk and used his paw to slide an envelope across to me. He gestured with his head, so I picked it up and examined it for a moment before ripping it open.

Inside was a single piece of paper, and on it were scrawled the words: "She's like my sister! See, you don't know everything!"

I looked up and gaped at Morris before falling back into my seat.

"You've tried that on me the last four times. Are you ready to move on?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding dumbly. I'd never been outsmarted by a cat before, not even Mrs. Norris. I wasn't feeling too good about myself just then. "What's—"

"Soulmates aren't like what you read in those cheap romance novels," he said. Looking up from his file, he smirked again. "And yes, I happen to know that you frequently snuck Petunia's romance books into your cupboard for a bit of 'light reading.'" I felt myself blush and wondered what else this cat knew about my private life.

"I know everything about you, in case you're wondering," he continued, tapping his claw on the pile of papers he was going through. "It's part of my job. Now, as I was saying, a soulmate is simply someone you can connect with on an especially deep level — mentally, physically, emotionally, and of course, magically. Working together, soulmates can accomplish a lot more than they can apart or with any other partners. Got it?" I nodded, figuring there wasn't any point in trying to ask a question since this cat would answer it before I finished.

"Oh, and by the way, you don't have any siblings, so what do you know about what it feels like for someone to be like a sister?' He paused for a moment, then added, "Have you seen any brothers treat their sister the way you treat that Granger girl?"

I thought about how Ron, Percy, and the twins treated Ginny. They teased her, they disregarded her opinions, and did all sorts of things that I didn't typically do to Hermione — at least not since we'd become friends in first year. It slowly dawned on me that the cat had a point, much as I was loathe to admit it.

"Exactly. Now, listen up: you have an important decision to make. Your first option is to move on. You managed to deal with Riddle, even if you didn't kill him personally. In some ways it was probably the most essential part of your fate. You certainly did a whole lot better this last time than you ever managed before. If you don't want to try anymore, we'll understand." I nodded. "Your second option is to be sent back in time so you can be reinserted and try again — but this will be your last chance."

"Why would _this_ be my last chance? Why not any of the others?"

"No one gets more than nine chances at life, obviously," Morris said with a shrug. "If you do worse this time, that will be it. The world will have to deal with the consequences, no matter how awful."

"Nine? That wouldn't be because cats only get nine lives, would it?"

Morris narrowed his eyes and glared. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Now, are you going to make a decision, or do I need to make one for you?"

I frowned, not liking that response, but he was right that I needed to decide. Calling it quits now was appealing since it would at least produce a decent outcome, even if not an optimal one. And what were the chances that I'd be capable of doing better? "If I did so badly the previous seven times," I asked, "what's to say that I'll do better on my ninth? Maybe this last one was a fluke?"

For the first time, the cat smiled. "Good question. It's possible that this last time was a fluke, but given that your next attempt would be your last chance, the rules can be relaxed a bit. In your case, we can let you go back with your memories intact."

Now it was my turn to finally smile. "You mean, I'll already know everything, like the locations of the horcruxes? I'll have the same skills?"

The cat nodded.

"If I can't do better with that, I'd have to be an idiot."

The cat nodded again. "Very true. Perhaps I shouldn't tell you that the current odds on you completing your final attempt with an improved outcome are 3-2. Against."

That made me scowl. Apparently I wasn't popular here... wherever "here" was. "Fine," I said, "what else would I have to do besides eliminate Voldemort?"

The cat looked back down at the papers on his desk. "Like I said, you should get with your soulmate, Granger. She'll be a big help. You'll need to begin reforming the magical world after you kill Riddle, but that's a long-term project. Oh! Be careful around Dumbledore, he can do as much to harm as to help. Telling him about all this probably wouldn't be a good idea. You can tell your soulmate, but not him."

"But... why?" Telling Dumbledore had been at the top of my list of things to do, especially if I was sent back to the point of being a little kid. I figured that I'd spill the beans and let him take care of everything. If I got lucky, Voldemort might be taken care of by Christmas in my first year!

The cat shrugged. "He's old. He's set in his ways. He's stretched too thin with too many jobs. He doesn't trust anyone enough to tell them all his plans, so he never gets an independent critique of his ideas. Take your pick."

"But he always helped so much," I insisted. "And he cared a lot about me, too. He'd do anything to help me succeed!"

"Really?" the cat drawled. "Just looking at recent events, where did he come up with that hairball scheme to send three teenagers on a scavenger hunt across all of Britain to find horcruxes? When the fate of Wizarding Britain, and possibly the world, is at stake, you don't counter the forces of evil by giving vague hints to a bunch of kids and hope that they work out the puzzle before the final credits roll. This is real life, not an episode of Scooby Doo!"

I couldn't stop a snort of amusement as an image of Voldemort came unbidden to my mind, standing there in handcuffs and complaining about having been thwarted by a bunch of meddling kids. And their owl, too. "Maybe you have a point," I said reluctantly.

"More than just a point. If you take the time to think about his decisions — putting you with the Dursleys, making you rescue Sirius instead of doing it himself, insisting that you participate in the tournament — you'll find plenty of reasons to question him. He's not evil, but he's not as smart as he thinks he is. And he has an agenda that won't necessarily correspond with yours."

"Sirius!" I exclaimed. "I can save him, can't I?"

The cat nodded and looked pleased. "Everything is reset, so you can change whatever you want. Free will and all that. Remember that the more you change, though, the less reliable your knowledge of the future will be. If you change something big, like saving Sirius or Cedric, you'd better be prepared for the consequences. No more do-overs after this time."

"Alright, send me back."

* * *

Apparently, death and taxes are not the only permanent constants in the universe. There is a third: bureaucracy. Even in death, there was still bureaucracy. I must have sat there signing documents for hours before Morris, who looked even more bored than I felt, finally declared that I was done and led me out of his office.

"One thing you need to know," Morris said as we started walking down another impossibly long hall. "Resetting the timeline sometimes produces little changes in reality. Fiddling with the timestream is no easy task, after all. So there are likely to be glitches that you'd not normally notice since you'd usually have your memory reset as well, but this time you might. The bigger the reset, the bigger the chance of glitches occurring."

"Like what?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"Well, you remember what Neville Longbottom looked like?' I nodded. Who could forget Nev? The tall, strong, dark-haired warrior of the final battle was nothing at all like the shy, pudgy kid I remembered from the first train ride. "He started out a blonde."

"Blonde? Him?" I exclaimed, stumbling slightly from the shock. Blonde was totally wrong for his coloring and facial structure.

Morris nodded. "His hair shifted on your third reset and never changed back."

"Wow, anything else?" Suddenly I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.

"Mostly small things. A couple of students look like entirely different people from what they were originally — Lavender Brown and Katie Bell, for example. They're the same people, but with different bodies. You'll need to be careful around strangers, in case you actually know them."

I nodded in appreciation, knowing that that could have gone bad. "Anything else?"

"No, I've never heard of anything more significant glitching after someone has been reinserted. Beyond that, I recommend that you take a little time to get yourself reaquainted with being in a younger body, but don't take too long. You've got a lot to get done! It would be a good idea to talk to Granger as soon as possible. Get your bond started and tell her the truth. Her ability to organize and plan will help."

"Oh, what about the horcrux in my head?" I asked as my hand shot up to my scar.

"I was wondering when you'd finally ask about that. You'll still have it, of course, but don't assume that you need to die to get rid of it. Dumbledore was hoping that an incredibly risky and convoluted scheme would ultimately keep you alive, and while he turned out to be right, briefly, he was playing a dangerous game. Look for alternatives."

I nodded in thanks as we entered an empty room with a large red circle in the middle.

"Is that him?" asked a ginger tabby cat who was sitting at some sort of console. There were two others there as well, and they were all staring intently at me.

"The one and only," Morris said as he sauntered over to them. It had been disturbing arriving in the wizarding world and discovering that I was famous for something awful that I didn't remember, but this? This was ten times worse. Or maybe seven times worse.

"Stand in the red circle, please," the white cat instructed, and I quickly complied.

The black cat whispered something to Morris, causing him to poke the other cat, telling him to hush. It sounded suspiciously like, "Can I make him blonde this time?"

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, talking loud enough to be heard over their sniggering.

"No, no, nothing at all," Morris insisted. His eyes were twinkling an awful lot like Dumbledore's did, and given how he'd warned me not to trust Dumbledore too much, that made me worried.

"When am I going back to?"

"You'll see," Morris answered, not making me feel any better.

Just before everything went black, I could have sworn I heard that damned ginger tabby say, "Whoops."

* * *

The first thing I became aware of was the biting cold. Then I heard Hermione's voice.

"You did it!"

I opened my eyes and blinked rapidly as I looked around. It was night. I was outside, near the Black Lake. I'd done it!

"Look, they're all gone!"

What was she talking about? What was gone, and why should I care? I dropped to my knees, feeling incredibly drained. After a few moments, the reason became clear: it was the end of third year, and I'd just driven off a host of dementors, saving Sirius. That's what was gone! I had to smile as all sorts of plans started forming in my mind.

"I said you were an incredible witch, Senna!"

First thing I was going to do was talk to Hermione and... huh-wha? Who or what was Senna?

My head whipped around to look at Hermione, and long, red hair whipped around, too, covering my face and getting into my mouth, which at the time was wide open in shock.

It took me several seconds to spit the strange hair back out and shove it away from my eyes. Why was I wearing a wig? I looked up at Hermione, confused. "Who are you talking to?" I paused and frowned and put a hand to my throat. "And what's wrong with my voice?"

"Senna? Are you feeling alright?" She knelt down and looked intently at me with a worried expression I'd seen on her face all too often.

"Who's Senna?" I asked.

"Why, you are, of course! What's wrong? Those dementors must have affected you more than I'd realized! You could have died!"

I was struck by a chill that was deeper and colder than that produced by any dementor. I grabbed some of the unfamiliar hair and pulled it forward so I could get a better look at it — and I felt it pull sharply on my scalp. I released the hair and my wand fell from my hand as I grabbed my chest, where I found two small, soft mounds.

Slowly, I let one hand drop farther down and grabbed nothing. Nothing at all.

Somewhere, I heard someone scream, then everything went black again.


	9. Untitled Harry Potter-Firefly Crossover

I'm baaa-aaack! Bonnie's all rested and recuperated, so now it's time to start posting again. Chapters will appear every Saturday morning, like before. I have another nine fluffle entries, so this will continue for a bit over two months, after which there will probably be a short break before I start publishing a new story (assuming I can finish it - I've been struggling with the final chapter for about six months now!)

 **Untitled Harry Potter/Firefly Crossover**

 **Summary:** The crew of the Serenity is offered a lot of credits if they can steal an ancient trunk that came from Earth-That-Was. A trunk with seven locks that no one is able to open, at least until River tries. Once again Mal finds himself saddled with an unexpected passenger with a mysterious past and dangerous skills.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Firefly

 **Pairing:** Holly Potter/River Tam

 **A/N:** I enjoyed Firefly a lot, and I don't think there are nearly enough HP/Firefly crossovers. "Browncoat, Green Eyes" by nonjon is not only the best, but a standout story overall which everyone should read. I have no idea where I'd take this story, though I think it has potential. I'd just have to try to not be too influenced by nonjon's fic.

I debated where exactly to locate this in the Firefly timeline, and for now at least I'm going to place it post-Miranda. I could change that, but the events surrounding Miranda are so big that it would seem wrong to ignore them.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter; JK Rowling does. I don't own Firefly; Joss Whedon does.

 **Chapter 01 - Woke Up On the Wrong Side of the Verse**

 **Firefly-Class Transport** _ **Serenity**_ **, Somewhere in the Black.**

"So, what do you think is in there, Zoë?"

"I thought we weren't supposed to ask such questions," Simon commented, though he didn't bother to hide his own interest. "Something about not getting too nosy about the details of any job?"

Kaylee scowled at the doctor, but Zoë stepped in to agree. "Simon's right. We were paid to steal it and then hand it over, not to ask questions about what's inside."

"But aren't you curious?" Kaylee half-whined. "I mean, it's a relic from Earth-That-Was!"

"It's just a trunk," Jayne said dismissively. "It's probably filled with mouldy old clothes and books and shit."

"Or it might be rare Earth-That-Was treasure," Kaylee countered. "Why else would it be locked up so tight, if it weren't full of what's shiny?"

"Or rare Earth-That-Was porn!" Inara interjected, her eyes dancing.

Jayne perked up at that. "Good point — let's see what's inside."

"Jayne, no—!" Zoë exclaimed, but it was too late. Jayne was already in front of the trunk, yanking and kicking it in an attempt to get it open.

"Hey, hey, careful!" Simon warned as he rushed over. "If you damage it, we won't get paid."

"I just wanted to see what the big deal was," Jayne said a bit petulantly, but he allowed himself to be pulled back. "It's Kaylee's fault, anyway. She's the one who got me all hot and bothered."

"Hey!" Kaylee objected.

"Settle down, everyone!" came the captain's voice from the upper level of the cargo hold.

"Any sign of pursuit?" Zoë asked.

"Nothing," Mal replied as he walked down to join them. "We got away clean. Now, does anyone want to tell me what's going on here?" Everyone tried talking at once, creating a cacophony of excuses, until Mal whistled loudly and held his hands up high. "One at a time!"

"Inara tried to trick me into reading ancient porn," Jayne said quickly, before anyone else could get him into trouble.

"As if you'd ever need to be tricked into that," Inara muttered as Kaylee snickered.

Mal scowled at all three impartially until Kaylee got control of herself and admitted, "We were just curious about what was in this old trunk. Artifacts from Earth-That-Was may be rare, but it's still odd that we're getting paid so much for this one object. It made me wonder if our client knows what's in there, and if the contents are worth even more than our fee. I just thought, you know, it might be a good idea to know exactly what it is that we're transporting."

Mal's expression softened a bit, then he pushed his way forward to stand in front of the trunk himself. He'd seen it before, of course, when they first stole it, but that was when it was just a target for a job. Now it was a mystery, and he didn't like mysteries.

Not on his ship, at any rate.

He stared for several long moments at the four strange beasts that had been carved into the lid, all surrounding the initials HJP, before he finally spoke.

"I must confess, I'm a mite curious about it myself," Mal said slowly. "I've been curious ever since we were offered the job, in fact. I've been hoping that the reason we're being paid so much is because our client is just another collector of rare artifacts who has more money than sense."

"No offense, Captain, but since when does our luck run that way?" Simon asked.

"Point taken — and don't think that hasn't occurred to me. But as long as this thing doesn't pose any danger to my ship or crew, I don't think we have cause to break into it. We were paid to deliver it intact, not looted. We'll be extra cautious when we make the exchange, and if everything goes well, we'll walk away with enough credits to make a real difference in our lives. Get some much needed repairs done, even back pay." Mal paused for a moment, then turned around to face his crew. "We need this job, people. As bad as our situation was before Miranda, it's a hundred times worse now. I've been begging and scraping to find work for us, but this was the first bite I got in over a month, and I don't want anything to happen to the goods that might give our client a reason to back out of the deal."

"The captain's right," Zoë said firmly. "Everybody get back to your jobs. We have to take the long way around to get to our client, so we'll be flying for nearly two weeks on the far edge of the Rim. This will be a good time to do cleaning and repairs."

Everyone grumbled as they made their way out of the cargo hold and back to their stations or bunks. Mal was the last to leave, but before he walked through the hatch something prickled at the back of his neck, causing him to turn around. There, kneeling in front of the trunk, was River. He hadn't seen her in the cargo hold before, but she was there now and appeared to be gently caressing the carvings.

"You, too, little lady," he called back, drawing her attention. "Don't be trying to open that thing."

"I was just curious," she said in a small voice.

"Well, you know what they say curiosity did to the cat," he pointed out before leaving, trusting that she'd follow his orders.

"I also know what satisfaction did," she said to the empty hold as she reluctantly walked away.

* * *

Every night for the next week, while the rest of the crew slept, River returned to the cargo hold and sat in front of the strange trunk. She watched it. She touched it. She traced the carvings and metal hardware.

She was drawn to the trunk in a way that she couldn't understand. Part of it was simply the fact that she, like the rest of the crew, wanted to solve the mystery of what was inside. She didn't like things being hidden from her.

That was only a small part of it, though. A much bigger part was that something like a whisper had been growing in the back of her mind. She _hated_ having whispers in her mind. Or any other voices, for that matter. And this one was all the more infuriating because she couldn't quite catch what it was saying. Yet at the same time, it had a lyrical quality that made her feel light, even happy. It also definitely made her calmer and more relaxed — feelings which she'd had precious little experience of ever since the Alliance had begun experimenting on her.

She wanted more of that. She wanted to understand the whispers. She wanted to solve the mystery. And to do that, she needed to figure out how to open the trunk before it was turned over to the client. Somehow she knew with a deep, abiding certainty that if she didn't get it open before the meeting with the client, she'd forever lose her best chance at peace and happiness.

So she spent several hours a night, every night, sitting with the trunk. After a week of this, she tired of simply touching the surface of the problem and decided to go a bit deeper. Since she couldn't open the trunk, the only way to achieve this was through the lock. Or rather, its locks, for it had seven keyholes, all aligned in a row. It was one of the trunk's many mysteries.

River leaned in close so she could peer into one of the old-fashioned keyholes, but she couldn't see anything at all. Not even a powerful light managed to pierce its black depths: the hole seemed to drive away all attempts to understand it. So she moved on to the second, then the third, until finally she had looked into all of them, and in the end was none the wiser than when she'd started. In sheer frustration, she jammed her pinky into the final keyhole and was surprised to find that it could accommodate her tiniest finger, if only barely. Now if she could just wiggle it around—

"Ow!" she cried, jumping to her feet and stepping back as she cradled her hand. There was a large drop of blood on her pinky where something had jabbed her, breaking the skin. Suddenly there was a thrumming that shook the deck plating, and she could hear deep, metallic clanks coming from within the trunk.

It sounded like locks opening.

"Ooops?" she said softly.

Mal was of course the first to come running in, anxious about anything that threatened his ship. He looked ridiculous standing there with a gun in his hand, wearing nothing but boxers and boots. River suppressed a giggle.

The rest of the crew followed close on his heels, most still in their sleepwear, and Jayne was having a terrible time not looking too closely at what Inara had on. Or didn't have on, depending on how one looked at it. River wondered briefly why Mal didn't seem to notice, but then she saw the look on his face and remembered that his ship might be in danger.

Curiously, Inara kept stealing glances at Mal, though it didn't seem to be his face which drew her attention.

"What happened — what's going on?" Zoë asked, but Mal didn't say anything right away. He just stared at River with hard, unblinking eyes.

Unable to stand the silence, she finally said in a small voice, "Sorry?"

"What did I tell you about being too curious?" Mal demanded. Abruptly his eyes narrowed. "And what are you doing down here? Aren't you supposed to be at the helm?"

"I took her watch," Zoë broke in to say. Mal frowned at her, only then seeming to notice that she was fully dressed. "Couldn't sleep," she finished with a shrug, not looking him in the eye.

"Uh, Captain?"

"Not now, Doc, I'm busy being angry," Mal retorted, turning back to River and brandishing a finger at her. "I distinctly remember instructing the crew — which you are a part of, at least for the present — not to bother that trunk."

"Captain, I think—" Kaylee tried to interject.

"I said, not now!" Mal growled. "Look, River, I like you, and you're becoming a right passable pilot, but as captain of this boat I can't afford to have the crew disobey my direct orders like that."

"Mal!" Zoë yelled, finally getting her captain's attention.

"What?" he snapped, turning to face his second, who pointed behind him.

"The trunk, Captain — it's open."

He turned and saw that the lid was upright. He spun back to face River. "You opened it, too? How? And why?"

"No, Captain, that's what we've been trying to tell you," Simon interrupted again. "It was closed when we all came in, but it opened while you were talking to River. By itself."

Mal whirled around to face the trunk, which now looked a whole lot more menacing than it had before, and after a moment everyone took a step back as Mal hefted his gun and cursed, "Tah mah duh hwoon dahn!"

"Well, it's open now — we should check it out," Zoë said matter-of-factly.

"Are you sure about that?" Kaylee asked, sounding a lot less curious than she had been before. "Maybe we should just leave it alone."

"Zoë's right," Mal said. "I didn't want to get involved with whatever's in there, but now that it's open, we need to learn if it's a danger to us. We're a good week from the nearest port, so we're in deep trouble if there's anything in there that means us harm."

Jayne and Zoë stepped forward to follow Mal, which was when River noticed that they were also armed. Guns didn't normally bother her, but she had the strangest feeling that shooting would be a bad idea.

"OK, this just took a turn for the weird," Mal announced as he stood over the trunk.

"Weird doesn't even begin to describe it, sir," Zoë said.

"I ain't goin' down in there," Jayne insisted, shaking his head. "That just ain't natural."

River pushed forward and discovered what had the others so upset. Instead of peering into a wooden box that was four feet long, three feet wide, and three feet deep, they were looking down into what appeared to be a massive stone room with a wooden ladder coming up to the trunk's edge. Mal stuck out one foot and nudged the trunk. It scraped noisily against the deck plating, and as they watched, the stone room moved as well.

"I'm tellin' ya, that just ain't natural."

"Which is even more of a reason to check it out," Mal shot back.

"I'll take point, sir," Zoë announced as she climbed over the lip of the trunk and moved down the ladder, using one hand to steady herself and the other to hold her pistol at the ready.

"I'll cover," Jayne said. "Watch the far corner — it's darkest and might have something hiding in it."

"I'm watching."

Once at the bottom, Zoë stepped to the side and crouched, her pistol held out in front of her while Mal followed her down. River immediately stepped up to go as well, but Simon grabbed her arm. "No, you shouldn't—"

"But I have to," she insisted. "It's my fault it opened and... and there's something here I need to see. I'm sure of it."

"Let her come, Doc," Mal called back up. "Her skills might do us well in close quarters, and if she can tell us more about what's going on here, I want to hear it."

Simon reluctantly let his hand drop, and River jumped over the side, landing on the floor beside the ladder even before Mal reached the bottom. "I will never get used to that," he muttered.

Zoë continued providing cover from the base of the ladder while Mal and River stepped forward towards the center of the room. As soon as they moved, torches on all four walls flared to life, causing Zoë and Mal to stop and tense in anticipation.

River, though, headed straight for the far corner, which was now revealed to contain a bed with a body on it. Upon reaching the side of the bed, she found herself staring at a young, red-headed woman who looked to be about her own age.

"River!" Mal hissed as he rushed to her side. "Don't wander off al—" He stopped when he saw what River was looking at and slowly lowered his gun. "Gorramit, not again!" he said half despairingly as he waved Zoë over.

"Sir?" Zoë said. "Oh, my..."

"What do you know about this, River?"

"I don't know anything, Captain," she insisted.

"But there's more going on here with you than mere curiosity, isn't there?" Mal asked while Zoë began checking the woman's vitals.

"I heard something. Or maybe... felt something?" River shrugged. "I can't explain it, I've felt drawn to the trunk ever since we got it."

Mal shook his head. "Talk to me, Zoë."

"She's alive, sir, but that's all I can tell. She seems to be asleep."

"Call the doc and have him get his kit. Maybe Jayne, too, if he's willing. We need to get her into the med-bay. We'll use the winch if the doc thinks she needs to be kept stable, otherwise have Jayne just toss her over a shoulder."

"Right, Captain. I'll tell Jayne she's pretty — maybe that will get him moving."

While Zoë went up the ladder and Mal investigated the rest of the bare room, River noticed that on the bedside table was a small, old-looking book. She leaned over to read the title: _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. She made a split-second decision to grab the book and slip it under her shirt, hiding it just in time before Mal returned.

"I can't find anything else in here, just the girl, the bed, and the table. Do you sense or see anything dangerous about her?"

River frowned for a moment, then answered, "No, not from her. At least, not if we aren't a danger to her first, I think."

"Good enough for now," Mal said. "I know better than to tell you to leave, but I expect you'll come up on your own when your brother takes her to the med-bay, right?"

She gave him a quick smile and nod before returning her gaze to the strange redhead. There was something about her that made River not want to look away, which both annoyed and intrigued her.

"What's this about a pretty girl?" Jayne said as he walked up behind Simon. He paused for a moment to look at her while Simon performed a quick exam, then he turned to the captain. "You know, Mal, if we keep picking up women like this, we're gonna have to redefine the sorts of services we hire out for."

"Jayne, stop being a pervert and help me with her," Simon said. "She doesn't have any obvious injuries, so you should be able to carry her."

Jayne grunted and lifted her up in a fireman's carry before returning to the ship.

"What's the word, Doc?" Mal asked.

"I don't see anything wrong with her, but I'll have to make a full exam with all my equipment."

"You do that, and tell me as soon as you know anything. And I do mean _anything_. There's something incredibly not right about all this."

"That's an understatement," Simon muttered as he followed Jayne.

In a few minutes, they'd all left, even River, and the empty room went dark as the torches died all on their own.

* * *

The trip through the black proceeded, and the crew continued to go about their duties. All except River, who spent every free minute either in the med-bay watching over their new passenger or reading from the book she'd... borrowed. Sometimes she did both, if there was no one around to ask questions about where she'd gotten it. The book fascinated her almost as much as the woman - it was filled with stories that read like fairy tales, but most were unlike any fairy tale she'd ever heard or read before.

"Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump" was the funniest by far, but her favorite was "The Tale of the Three Brothers." It was gruesome and disturbing, but she also found it strangely compelling. It was the final story, though, which she kept coming back to, reading it over and over again. "The Mistress and the Draught of Living Death" was the only story in the book which seemed vaguely familiar, and it revolved around a woman who was betrayed by an enemy she thought had become an ally. This enemy snuck a poison into her food, a poison which caused her to fall into an eternal sleep. The only cure for her condition was a kiss — and not just any kiss, but true love's first kiss, because only love had the power to subdue death.

She thought it very odd that the story didn't have an ending.

"What are we going to do with her?" she heard Zoë whisper to Mal one evening as the second week of travel was drawing to a close. They were standing just outside the med-bay, but she could hear them as well as if they were standing next to her. She'd never bothered to tell anyone just how good her hearing really was, nor did she intend to. She learned far too much when people underestimated her.

"I don't rightly know," Mal replied. "A lot depends on whether the doc can wake her before we arrive for the exchange."

"He doesn't have any better idea on what's wrong with her, then?"

"Nope. She just seems to be asleep, according to him. Nothing he's tried has woken her up, though. It's like she's dead, for all that she reacts to drugs or stimulation." River cocked her head in thought as he went on, "He said there are a few more cocktails he can try, but he's reluctant due to the dangers they can pose."

"What if the buyer was specifically interested in her?" Zoë asked. "What if the buyer knew she was in that trunk and expects to find her when he opens it?"

River could hear the captain's voice grow heated, though she wasn't paying quite so much attention to him now. "You know I don't approve of slavery. I won't stick my neck out and risk my crew to fight slavers, but I sure as hell won't participate, either. Alive or dead, awake or asleep, she's a human being, and I won't sell her to anyone. I'll turn over the trunk for the agreed-upon fee, but that's it. If the buyer decides to take offense over that, then I guess we'll just have to disagree."

"Good," Zoë responded. "I'll make sure the others know, just in case the buyer puts up a fight."

The voices faded away and River renewed her focus on the woman lying in the bed in front of her. She was a mystery that River couldn't get out of her head. Even when she was back in her bunk, sleeping, she seemed to continually dream about her. She never remembered any of the details of those dreams, but she could clearly remember the long, flowing red hair and green eyes. There were also weird sensations that she seemed to remember — sensations that she didn't understand, but she knew she wanted more.

Slowly she stood and leaned over the bed, looking down at the woman's face. "Should I?" she whispered. "It seems so silly, and yet..."

She didn't know if it was right or wrong, nor did she care. She just felt the urge to act, much like when she had stuck her finger in the keyhole, and act she did. Without another thought, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to the woman's, trying to give her a kiss like the one the story said was required to wake the mistress. She had no idea if waking the mysterious woman was something she _could_ do, but she had no doubt that it was something she _wanted_ to do.

Little did she know it at the time, but with magic that sort of desire was the most important ingredient.

River allowed the kiss to linger, and much to her surprise she soon felt herself being kissed back. Before she could pull away, arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her down into a tight embrace which enhanced the strange yet familiar sensations that were setting fire to nerves all up and down her body.

She had a pretty good idea now what she and the woman had been doing in her dreams.

Eventually the kiss ended and she pulled back, just enough so she could focus on the woman's face again. For the first time, she looked into the green eyes when they were actively looking back at her, and River found herself entranced by how they danced and seemed to peer deep into her.

"Well, hello, gorgeous," the woman said in a voice rough with disuse. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Not that I didn't enjoy that, but... mind telling me who you are and where I am?"

"River!"

Simon's shout made River jump back in surprise, which would have been fine had the woman simply let go. Instead, she held on and was dragged off the bed, which in turn pulled River down to the floor, where the two of them ended up in a tangled heap.

"River?" Simon said again, this time sounding almost quizzical as he came around the bed and looked down at the two.

"Doc?" Mal shouted as he charged in, closely followed by Zoë and Jayne.

"It looks like my sister managed to wake our passenger," he reported blandly, causing Mal to shake his head in exasperation. Again.

"I told you we shoulda put a leash on her," Jayne muttered. "Maybe a bell, too."

* * *

"Alright, alright, quiet everyone," Mal shouted, annoyed at how big of a production this had become. He'd wanted to interrogate their unexpected passenger alone in the med-bay, but the rest of the crew was anxious to see and talk to her, too. It wasn't every day that illegal cargo turned out to contain a mysterious and beautiful woman. Well, in all honesty it was close to becoming routine for them, which was also starting to annoy him, but still...

"Let me see if I've got this straight, Miss, uh..."

"Potter," she answered. "But you can call me Holly."

"Right, Holly," Mal continued. "You were born on Earth-That-Was back in the year 1981. Which makes you five... five hundred..."

"Five hundred thirty-six years old," River supplied promptly.

"Right, that's what I was about to say."

"And you don't look a day over twenty!" Kaylee broke in. Mal turned and scowled at Kaylee, only to see Inara nodding happily in agreement.

"Not the point!" Mal said, then he paused before turning back to Holly. "Well, not entirely the point, at any rate. According to you, the reason you not only survived, but are looking so well-preserved, is that you were put in some sort of weird stasis that has kept you alive all this time. And inside a trunk, no less. Then River here did something to wake you up."

"I kissed her," River said simply.

"Right," Mal said. "I'm still debating whether to believe that or not."

"I can see it happening," Jayne said, grinning. "Maybe if you ask, they'll do it again."

"That's not the point, either," Mal growled. "The point is how something like a kiss could wake a body even after all the doc's efforts went nowhere." He turned back to look at Holly. "I'm sure you can understand if I find all that a mite hard to believe."

Holly nodded. "I sympathize. I mean, look at it from my perspective. I just found out that it's the twenty-sixth century, that I've been asleep for about five hundred years, that the Earth I grew up on is now an uninhabitable wasteland, and I'm travelling on a spaceship. All that is pretty unbelievable to me."

"She's got a point," Kaylee offered. "I'm not sure I'd believe it."

"Except we know that what we told her is the truth," Mal insisted, though without much heat. He could see her point, honestly he could, but it muddied the waters of what had been a clear-cut case of Holly being crazy, and he didn't need that right now. Not on top of all the other headaches that this supposedly straightforward job was giving him.

He might have said that this couldn't get any worse, but he'd learned not to tempt fate like that anymore.

"Do you have anything that would support your story?" Zoë asked. "Any sort of evidence that would help us understand and believe you?"

Holly shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I have no idea what would convince you. I might have something in my trunk, though. I always kept it stocked for emergencies. If whoever did this to me couldn't get into the other compartments, then all my stuff should still be there. Maybe I have some photos that would work?"

Mal closed his eyes briefly and sighed. So much for not tempting fate. "You're claiming that's _your_ trunk?" he asked as his crew exchanged dark looks. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Zoë's hand moved ever so slightly towards her pistol.

"Yes, it's a one-of-a-kind, seven-compartment special," Holly answered. "Used to belong to a grumpy old man named Moody, but he left it to me in his will. He'd laugh his ass off if he knew someone locked me in there for five centuries. Then he'd do something really painful to me, I'm sure." She looked around at all the faces, which now bore slightly less friendly expressions. "Is there a problem?"

"Maybe," Mal said. "It's just that, well, the work we take isn't always exactly legal. Sometimes it's necessary to skirt around the edges of the law in order to make a living out here."

"What the captain's trying so hard _not_ to say is that we're thieves and smugglers," Jayne added helpfully, causing Mal to scowl.

"Speak for yourself!" Inara objected. "I, at least, have a respectable career." Mal's scowl only deepened — she _would_ have to bring that up.

"I won't judge," Holly said, holding up a hand. "I've been accused of bending the rules a few times myself."

Well, at least there was that. He smiled without mirth. "The last job we were hired to do was to steal a rare artifact that came from Earth-That-Was."

"A really old trunk, I take it?" Holly asked, and Mal nodded. "And I'm guessing that my claiming ownership of it would be a bit... inconvenient?"

"More than a bit," he admitted. "I won't bore you with our tale of woe, but we've had an especially hard time finding work recently. In fact, before this job came along we were just a dog's hair away from being grounded, and the fee for delivering that trunk will keep us flying for quite a while."

Holly nodded. "I can understand that. While I object in principle to bargaining for getting my own property back, I do owe you for freeing me. Who knows how long I would have stayed in there if River hadn't opened it?" She turned and smiled at River, who smiled shyly back. "Maybe I have something I can exchange that will make up for your loss and compensate you for your time, either in goods or in services?"

Mal's expression turned skeptical. "I can't imagine what you could do to help us. If your story is true, then you don't exactly have experience crewing a ship in the black, but I'll at least consider any suggestions. Better would be something we can sell for credits or gold. Or even just trade for fuel, parts, or food. You might have some artifacts from Earth-That-Was which would work. If they're in good shape, they can fetch some coin from willing collectors, though it will take time to find and reach them. Time we might not have."

"There's also our reputation to consider," Zoë added. "If we make a deal with you and welsh on our client, people might stop trusting and hiring us. No matter what you offer us now, it might not be worth it in the long run."

"I might be able to help with that, too," Holly replied. "I can be very persuasive when I need to be, so perhaps I can convince your buyer to keep your reputation intact." She paused to think for a moment, then added, "In fact, I really ought to talk to them anyway and find out why they wanted my trunk so badly."

"That sounds pretty fair," River said softly.

Mal gave her a hard look, but she refused to turn away. He then surveyed the rest of his crew to gauge their reactions. Simon and Kaylee appeared hopeful, which was no surprise — they were too soft to make hard choices. Jayne seemed conflicted, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know why. Zoë wore a neutral expression and appeared to be relaxed, but he saw how tense her muscles were, and noted that her hand was just a little closer to her pistol.

Hands on hips, Mal looked away for a long moment, then resolutely returned his gaze to his newest passenger. "If you can make it so that this trip isn't a loss while also keeping our reputation whole, then you can keep your trunk," he said finally. "And so long as you're on this ship, we'll protect it and you as if you were one of us. I can't make a fairer offer than that. We may sometimes make our living from thieving, but we don't like to steal from them's that be needing. Not if we can help it, at least."

"It's a deal. I'll just need to go through my stuff to see what I have."

"Later," Simon interjected as he stepped forward. "First I need to do a complete medical workup on you to see what's changed now that you're awake. You'll probably need to eat, too. You have gone five centuries without a meal, after all."

"Later, then," Mal said with a nod while the crew filed out. "I'll see if I can slow us down and delay the meeting by a day or two, maybe give us a little more time to work something out."

"I appreciate it, Captain," Holly replied, before turning to the doctor. "I guess I'm all yours, Doc, but I have to warn you - I'm not very good about sticking around in hospital beds..."

Mal paused one last moment at the doorway and frowned. Instead of choosing to leave with everyone else, River had instead moved to the other side of Holly's bed.

That was something he'd have to keep an eye on.


	10. Magic Tricks (HP-New Tricks Crossover)

**Magic Tricks**

 **Summary:** Godric's Hollow was a mixed magical/muggle community, so it's plausible that muggle police would have been alerted to something happening at the Potter home, but they wouldn't have been allowed to pursue it. What if the case of two murders and one missing child sat open, gathering dust, until UCOS decided to investigate? How much would they find out?

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/New Tricks

 **Pairing:** None

 **A/N:** New Tricks was a great show, at least with the original cast, so I thought it would be nice to set them on the unsolved (for muggles) case of the murders of James and Lily Potter. It requires fudging questions of jurisdiction, but hopefully you can ignore that. This would be a short story, probably only three or four chapters, and the focus would be almost entirely on the muggle investigation as it closes in on answers about what happened to the Potters... among other mysteries that develop.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own New Tricks, the BBC does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Digging Up Dirt**

 **Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad Office, London. August 24, 2005. 8:40AM.**

"Got a minute, Sandra?"

"Sure, Jack, have a seat."

Jack Halford closed the door to his boss's office and sat down across from her. "So, is the Islip case finally closed?" he asked conversationally.

Sandra nodded. "Apparently they're making a deal, so we won't have to testify. In fact, Strickland told me privately that the Commissioner was anxious to make arrests and get a conviction, so we may be in for a commendation for having closed the case so quickly."

"Nice to be appreciated occasionally."

"That may start happening more often," Sandra said, smiling. "Our reputation in the Met has been steadily improving. We may have begun as a joke and a dead end, but people are really starting to see the value in what we're doing here. The more of these old cases we can finally close, the more respect we'll all earn."

"Good, glad to hear it... because I have a favor to ask." Jack hesitated for a moment before passing a folder across the desk. "I've brought you a case that I'd like us to take next."

"You know it's against policy to take on cases like this," Sandra said with a frown, though she accepted the folder anyway. "We're supposed to pick from the open case files that the Commissioner has lined up."

"I know, I know, but this was one of mine," Jack said. "It's one that I was never able to solve and have never been able to get out of my head."

"Well, I know what that's like," she murmured as she started flipping through the documents. "How did you get this file, anyway?"

"I made a copy when I was pulled from the case."

Sandra frowned. "But you retired. You shouldn't... ugh! Jack, how many official files did you keep?" Jack shrugged. "No, don't tell me, I don't want to know!" Frowning, she returned to the file and read through a bit more. "We've all had cases like this, Jack, but they aren't all worthy of time and attention from UCOS. We have to be particular about the cases we take. What's so special about this one? Why does it bother you so much?"

"Aside from two dead bodies with no obvious cause of death? The little boy who lived but disappeared."

* * *

 **UCOS, 9:00AM.**

"James Potter, age unknown," Sandra said as she passed out packets of information to the members of her team. "Found dead in the living room of the family home in Godric's Hollow, cause unknown. Lily Potter, also age unknown, found dead in a destroyed nursery of the same home, also cause unknown, despite the extensive physical damage to the room she was in."

"No photos?" Gerry asked as he flipped through the papers.

"No photos or other records of any sort," Sandra said. "That's part of the mystery."

"What did the autopsies say?" Brian asked.

"None were performed."

"That's not right - that's a violation of procedure!" Brian protested.

"I know," Jack said. "But all we have is the statement from PC James Nesbitt about the location and condition of the bodies. He was the first on the scene and, as it turns out, the only officer to even view the scene. Everything was cleaned up within a day."

"Can we interview him?" Gerry asked. "Maybe we can get something not in the official report."

"James Nesbitt," Brian began reciting from memory. "Promoted to Detective Inspector in 1992, shortly after moving to London and joining the Metropolitan Police Service. Transferred to North Yorkshire in 1993. Retired in 1999." He paused slightly. "Died of a heart attack last year."

"What about exhuming the bodies?" Gerry asked next.

Sandra shook her head. "Not unless we can't get anywhere with anything else."

"It's unlikely that we'll still be able to get much from the bodies after all this time," Brian pointed out. "Only certain poisons would still be detectable in the skin and hair. Though according to Nesbitt's report there were no obvious signs of violence or injuries, so something like poison is a real possibility."

"More importantly, this isn't a case that has come to us through official channels," Sandra added. "It's one of Jack's old cases, and I've agreed that it's worth pursuing. However, I don't want to draw any more official attention to it than I have to. I'd rather wait until we have some solid leads to show for our efforts - then they won't dare tell us to step away."

"What's this about a nursery? Was there a child involved?" Brian asked with a frown.

"There was a son, Harry James Potter - age also unknown, but he was described as appearing to be about one to two years old. At the time, Nesbitt reported that he was alive, but suffering from a head injury," Jack replied. "The exact nature of the injury is unknown, and there are no hospital records that I know of."

"Well, that's a dead end - he won't be able to remember anything," Gerry said glumly.

"The bigger problem is that he went missing," Jack went on with a frown. "Nesbitt saw him and reported his existence, but after that he disappeared. That's part of the case, at least as far as I'm concerned. A young couple dropping dead like that always bothered me, and I never understood why I was pulled from it before I could even get started. No one ever explained their reasoning, no one came to talk to me, and nothing was ever done. It just seemed to fall through the cracks. It stinks and I don't like it. But more than anything, I always wanted to be able to explain to that boy how and why his parents were taken from him at such a young age. I believed that I owed him that much, if nothing else."

Both Gerry and Brian nodded approvingly. "First we have to find him, though," Brian said.

"I'd like you to work on that, Brian," Sandra said. "Get with Izzy and see what you can dig up on the computers. I'll take Jack and Gerry to reexamine the crime scene and see what we can turn up there."

"You're leaving now?"

"It's a long drive, and I want to be back before dinner."

* * *

 **UCOS, London. 6:30PM.**

"That was the biggest waste of time ever!"

"Not entirely, Gerry. We did manage to locate the graves, so now we know where they are in case we do have to file for exhumation."

"But still, that's just the graves, Sandra. What about the house? Who loses a _house?"_

"I'm telling you, it was there back in '81," Jack insisted. "I didn't get a chance to enter it, but I did see it from the street. I'll never forget how the upper west corner looked like a bomb had gone off inside, that's for sure."

"I still say we simply made a mistake with—" Sandra stopped in surprise when she saw Brian's head pop up from behind a computer terminal. "Oh, hullo, Brian. I'm surprised you're still here."

"I'm waiting for him," he said, pointing at Gerry. "He's my ride home."

"That's right, I forgot!" Gerry exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "We'd better get moving, then. I promised to meet Emily for a pint later on."

"Wait, let's hear if he made any progress first," Jack insisted.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Brian said, looking more than a bit smug. "With the able assistance of PC Izzy Clark, I managed to track down school records for one Harry James Potter."

"Where?" Jack asked, sounding eager.

"In Little Whinging, Surrey," he answered, handing over a thin file.

"Is that all levels of schooling?" Jack stared at the small photograph of a thin, black-haired boy with large glasses. It was his first look at a boy his mind had returned to somewhat regularly over the past two decades.

Brian frowned. "That's the troubling thing. We couldn't track down any school records past age eleven, not in Little Whinging nor anywhere else. There's no record of a transfer to another school, nor is there any death certificate on record that would give a reason for him no longer being in any school."

"Is it possible that those records simply haven't been put in the computers yet?" Gerry asked.

"I thought of that, but no," Brian answered. "All primary education institutions are required to digitize all their old records in accordance with the Millennium Data Access and Protection Act of 2001. The process is still ongoing in a lot of places, but the schools in Surrey got a special grant in 2003 which allowed them to complete it all. They should have a record of his continued schooling there or a record of his transfer to another school."

"Then I wonder what could have happened?" Sandra asked, frowning.

"It's yet another mystery in a case that keeps giving us mysteries," Brian grumbled.

"Funny thing... something similar happened to a mate of mine when I was a kid," Gerry said absently.

"Oh?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, we were thick as thieves for a couple of years, then the first day of school came and he wasn't there," Gerry said as he stared off into space, reliving a memory. "After a couple of days I went around his flat, and his mum said that he'd gone away. Wouldn't be back again." Gerry shook his head. "I haven't thought of him in ages. Huh."

"What was his name?" Brian asked.

Gerry stood there, his brow furrowed. "I dunno. Can't seem to remember. It's right on the tip of me tongue, too... Bah, I'll think of it eventually."

Jack looked back at Sandra and saw that she was frowning now. "Something wrong?

"No, just thinking about something that happened to a friend of my cousin," she said softly as she shook her head.

"PC Clark and I will expand our search tomorrow for any information relating to the parents," Brian said. "In the meantime, here's the address which the school had for young Mr. Potter. Number 4, Privet Drive, the residence of a Mr. Vernon and Mrs. Petunia Dursley. I couldn't find any record of the Dursleys adopting or being granted any sort of guardianship over the boy, though. He's got a birth certificate and school records, but nothing else has turned up so far."

"Are they still living at the same address?" Jack asked.

Brian nodded as he put on his jacket. "It's a modest, four-bedroom suburban home. Mr. Dursley is a retired salesman, while Mrs. Dursley hasn't worked outside the home since she got married."

"Any sign of them living beyond their means - spending ill-gotten insurance money, perhaps?" Gerry suggested.

"Not likely," Brian answered as he handed Sandra a piece of paper. "For years he only drove a company car, they have rarely travelled abroad, and their tax returns show a moderate income. If he's hiding something like that, he's doing a good job of it."

"Our task for tomorrow?" Jack asked while Brian and Gerry hurried out.

Sandra nodded. "We'll interview whoever's home and see what we get. Maybe if we track down the boy, we'll learn more about his parents."

"And the Dursleys might know something about the parents, too. They took the boy in, after all."

"Family friends, maybe?" Sandra suggested.

"One can hope."

* * *

 **Little Whinging, Surrey. August 25, 2005. 9:30AM.**

"Mrs. Dursley? Mrs. Petunia Dursley?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman," she said as she held up her ID card. "I'm with the Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad in London. This is Jack Halford. May we come in to ask you and your husband a few questions?"

"Uh... why, yes," Petunia said uncertainly as she stepped back. "Vernon isn't here right now - he's at the store."

"That's alright, we'll talk to him later if we need to," Sandra said with a disarming smile as she took in everything within sight.

"Would you like some tea?" Petunia asked as she entered the living room.

"No, thank you," Sandra replied as she allowed herself to be led to the couch. "You have a lovely home."

"Nice photos, too," Jack commented from the far side of the room where the wall was covered in framed pictures. "It looks like you and your husband had one taken every year."

"Yes, yes we did."

"Is that your son?" he asked, pointing at a wide figure in one of the photos.

"Yes, that's my Dudders," Petunia said. "Such a big, strapping young man. He's going places, you know. He's really making a name for himself."

"Dudders?" Jack asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Dudley, I mean. He doesn't like it when I use Dudders anymore. Thinks he's too grown up for that."

Jack nodded in understanding. "So, it's just the three of you? You, Vernon, and Dudley?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"And what about Harry?" Jack pressed, his eyes narrowing. "I don't see a second boy in any of these photos."

"H-harry?"

"Yes, Harry Potter," Jack said as he pulled a small notebook from his coat and flipped it open. "We know he lived here from 1985 through 1991, at the very least. Why isn't he in any of the photos you display, Mrs. Dursley?"

"Wha-what is this all about?" Petunia demanded in a quavering voice. "Why would you be asking about him? We don't know anything about him - not anymore. We don't want too, either."

"We're investigating the deaths of James and Lily Potter," Sandra said, causing Petunia to start in surprise, as if she'd forgotten that there was a third person in the room. "But we're having some trouble, so we're taking a look into what happened to their son, too."

"Li-lily? What do you want with her?"

"Did you know Mrs. Potter?" Jack asked.

"Certainly I knew her! She was my sister, unfortunately!"

Jack and Sandra exchanged a meaningful look. "So, Harry Potter was your nephew, then?" Jack continued.

"Of course he was! He was dumped on our doorstep after my sister got herself murdered, with no regard as to whether we wanted him or not! We'd just had Dudders, and Vernon was new in his job! We were barely making ends meet, we had so many bills to pay, and suddenly we were saddled with another mouth to feed! More nappies to buy! Not that our opinion was ever asked, mind you - what we thought didn't matter! We were just expected to raise him, whether we wanted to or not!"

"Still, he was your nephew," Sandra said, trying to be understanding. "He was your family. Surely you cared—"

"He was a freak, is what he was!" Petunia spat. "Just like my sister and her good-for-nothing husband, not that that was any surprise. Oh, we tried to prevent it. We said that we'd make sure he turned out differently. That he'd be normal. But it was no use - we wasted our time with him."

"Mrs. Dursley, what do you know of your sister's dea—"

"Pet, I'm home!" came a loud, booming voice from the front hall.

"Oh, Vernon!" Petunia wailed, hurrying out of the room, leaving behind two confused and even more concerned police officers while a hushed, angry conversation took place out in the hall.

"What is the meaning of this, barging in here and bothering decent folks like us?" Vernon demanded when he stomped in after a few moments. He tried to loom over Jack, but since he was more wide than tall the effect was lost.

"Mr. Dursley, is it?" Sandra asked, moving slowly so she could provide Jack with backup if things turned ugly. "As we explained to your wife, we're from the Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad—"

"Yes, yes, I've heard of you," he interrupted with a dismissive wave of his large, beefy hand. "Waste of our hard-earned taxes, if you ask me, spending all that time on long-forgotten cases when you should be protecting decent folk here and now! Decent folk who can't walk the streets at night!"

"Well, you're certainly entitled to your opinion, Mr. Dursley, but—"

"And why are you bothering us so early in the morning instead of being out there doing your jobs? Surely there are actual criminals that need to be tracked down?"

"This **is** our job, Mr. Dursley," Sandra said, starting to lose her polite facade. "We're investigating the deaths of James and Lily Potter. We came to learn about what happened to their son, Harry James Potter."

"They were just a couple of freaks - what else do you need to know? Freaks who were killed by other freaks, we were told, not that that's any of our concern. And I have no idea what's happened to that little freak they saddled us with. Alive or dead, I don't care. He's gone now, not eating our food or living under our roof, and that's all that matters. Good riddance, I say. Should have kicked him out long before! He was more trouble to us than he was worth!"

"Mr. Dursley, if you have any information about—"

"Are we under arrest?" Petunia interrupted.

"What? No, of course not," Jack answered.

"Are we under suspicion of having committed any crimes?" she asked.

"No, not at this time," Sandra answered with a frown.

"Then I'll have to ask you to leave," Petunia insisted, standing up a little straighter. "We've said all we care to on the subject and don't wish to speak any further."

"Yes, leave!" Vernon boomed. "We don't want to talk to you about any freaks! We've had enough freakishness to last us a lifetime! We thought we were done with all that, done! You have no business bringing it back into our home like this. We pay our taxes - we know our rights!"

Sandra stiffened. "Very well, we won't bother you any further. Today, at least."

"I can't believe them!" she half-shouted once they were in the car and driving back into London.

"I don't like it either," Jack agreed. "There's something very wrong with that family. We should get Brian and Clark to see what they can find out about them."

* * *

 **UCOS, London. August 25, 2005. 11:00AM.**

"Brian, have you got anything new?" Sandra demanded when they got back to the office.

"No joy so far, and we've gone through most of the databases available to us..."

"Fine. New direction: instead of focusing on the parents, I want you to focus again on Harry, with special attention on the Dursley family. See what you can dig up. I want everything." She kept right on walking into her office and slammed the door.

"Petunia Dursley was Lily Potter's sister," Jack added. "They know something - that much was obvious - but they didn't want to talk about it. I think they were scared of something."

"Or someone?" Brian suggested.

Jack nodded. "Could be. Maybe you can track the mother by starting with the sister."

"That can't be what's got Sandra all in a tizzy, though," Gerry whispered, peering over that day's edition of _The Sun_ just in case she could hear him through the wall. "That time of the month, d'you suppose?"

"No, it was the Dursleys," Jack said with a scowl. "They're a real piece of work, going on and on about 'freaks' and how they never wanted to raise the boy in the first place."

"Sounds rather ominous," Brian responded with a frown.

"It's more than ominous," Jack insisted. "I could easily see Vernon bullying someone smaller than him. I'd be surprised if he didn't, in fact. And the way he kept shouting about 'decent folk' and 'freakishness'..." Jack trailed off and shook his head. "I'm starting to get worried about what happened to that boy."

"Let me guess," Gerry said as he folded up and put down his paper. "Vernon was a big, thick-set guy. He talked tough, but looked like he'd fold if challenged directly. He got red in the face when he raised his voice and spent more time talking about himself than anything else. Everything kept coming back to him - what he wanted, what he was owed, that sort of thing."

Jack frowned. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Do you know him?"

"Nah, but I know the type," Gerry replied, standing and buttoning his jacket. "Simple, salt-of-the-earth sort of gent. Lots of anger issues, but easy enough to soothe if you push the right buttons. You just have to know how to deal with people like him, and then they'll give up their own mothers if you ask it of 'em."

"Where are you going?" Brian asked as Gerry started to leave.

"Little Whinging, to do some digging around," Gerry called back. "Don't wait up."

Brian and Jack shot each other a disbelieving look and just shook their heads.

* * *

 **UCOS, London. August 25, 2005. 4:30PM.**

"Alright Brian, what have you and Clark got for me?" Sandra asked as she came out of her office.

"Prepare to be amazed," Brian said dramatically, picking up a stack of papers. "Petunia Dursley," he began. "Born Petunia Evans on February 23, 1956. Married to Vernon Dursley on October 17, 1977. No criminal record, not even a parking violation. Aside from membership in a few local organizations, like the Little Whinging Garden Club, she's a non-entity." He put down one piece of paper before continuing, "Vernon Dursley. Born April 18, 1951. Former sales manager for Grunnings Drills, took early retirement for medical reasons. No criminal record, though he does have a number of speeding tickets and parking violations. Otherwise, also a non-entity."

"Is there a point to all this, Brian?" Sandra asked, looking bored and annoyed.

"Be patient," he replied as he set down a second piece of paper. "Dudley Dursley. Born June 23, 1980. Never married. As a youth he was suspected of being involved in quite a few crimes, mostly things like vandalism, but the Surrey police were never able to get enough hard evidence to charge him with anything. All that stopped about ten years ago, though. Currently works part-time as a bouncer, is pursuing a boxing career, and spends a lot of time volunteering with anti-bullying programs in local schools."

"Do you have a current address?" Sandra asked, perking up a bit.

"Right here in London," Brian said, handing her the third sheet.

"That's a start, but I thought we were going to be amazed," Jack said.

Brian sniffed in Jack's direction and continued, "I was reliably informed that Petunia Dursley, born Petunia Evans, had a sister named Lily, also presumably named Evans. With that information, PC Clark was able to track her and her sister down to where they were born: Cokeworth." He handed Sandra a fourth piece of paper. "Lily Evans. Born January 30, 1960. Died October 31, 1981. Date of marriage, unknown."

"Excellent work!" Sandra exclaimed. "Now we're getting somewhere. We just need to... Wait, Brian, why do these records stop in 1971?"

"What, 1971?" Jack asked as he shifted to get a closer look at the paper. "Age eleven?"

Brian nodded. "Age eleven, just like with her son. Nothing more exists for Lily Evans past that date - not in any of the databases I've been able to check, and nothing at all for Lily Potter."

"And you've checked everything?" Jack asked.

"Including a few I probably shouldn't even know about," Brian said softly.

"I didn't hear that!" Sandra said, putting her hands over her ears.

"Why isn't there anything more?" Jack asked, dismayed. "And what's so special about age eleven?"

"That's a very good question," Brian admitted. "I expanded my search to encompass the schools which Harry Potter and Lily Evans attended, to see if I could find any wider patterns. I found nothing in Little Whinging, but I did get an interesting hit in Cokeworth." He handed Sandra another piece of paper. "Severus Snape. Born January 9, 1960, so the same age as Lily Evans. He, too, disappears from all records at the age of eleven."

"Amazing," Sandra said, and Brian beamed.

"On top of that, there are notations in Snape's school file about repeated bruising and other injuries," Brian continued. "Although no explicit conclusions were drawn from the evidence at the time, or at least none that were written down, looking back I think the cause was obvious."

"Abuse," Jack said darkly.

"Most likely." Brian confirmed with a nod. "The reported injuries fit all the standard patterns."

"Any evidence that Snape and Evans knew each other?" Jack asked.

"No direct evidence, no, and they were definitely from different socio-economic classes. However, in addition to being the same age and attending the same school, their residences weren't too far apart. Close enough to walk."

"So, it's a good bet that they were at least acquainted, though we can't prove it," Jack mused.

"If Harry was abused, then that's another similarity between them," Sandra observed. "But where would Lily fit in here? There are no signs or reports of abuse with her, and she clearly lived long enough to marry and have a child. Did Snape? Did Harry? If so, where are they? What happened to them?"

"I don't know," Brian said with a sigh. "There's nothing that I can find that they all have in common. Nothing to link them all together."

"Keep digging - this is good work," Sandra said after she read and reread the papers a few times. "Tomorrow morning I'll go and have a chat with 'Dudders' - see what he has to say about growing up with Harry. Jack, you and Gerry..." She paused, looking up and around the room. "Where's Gerry?"

Jack and Brian glanced at one another, but quickly looked away.

"I saw that. Tell me, what happened?"

No one said anything.

"Jack?" she prompted, warning in her tone.

"Gerry said he knew Vernon Dursley's type," Jack answered reluctantly. "He told us he was going to Little Whinging to see what he could learn."

"He was sure that he could get him to talk," Brian added quickly, trying to sound encouraging.

Sandra growled in the back of her throat. "He'd better not screw this up! Fine - Jack, do you think you can handle interviewing the Dursleys' neighbors by yourself?" Jack nodded. "Good, do that first thing tomorrow. Ask around the school, too, if you have time. Maybe there's still someone there who remembers Harry. And if you see Gerry, drag him back here. By his ears!" She stormed out, leaving Brian, Jack, and Izzy to all look at each other nervously.


	11. A Nightmare on Privet Drive (HP-Elm St)

**A Nightmare on Privet Drive**

 **Summary:** The summer after Voldemort's return, Harry Potter suffers from nightmares so bad that something in the realm of dreams takes notice and is drawn in by Harry's suffering, determined to make it worse. Soon others also start suffering from nightmares, and when kids start dying Harry realizes that Voldemort is no longer the biggest threat facing him.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Nightmare on Elm Street Movies

 **Pairing:** None, though there are strong hints of Harry/Hermione.

 **A/N:** I was terrified when I first saw _A Nightmare on Elm Street!_ Sure, it doesn't seem so scary these days, but at the time I found it much scarier than the other horror film franchises. Given that Harry has good reasons for having bad nightmares, it seems plausible that Freddy would take notice. I only see this story lasting for three chapters, and I have a decent outline already, so there's a good chance of it getting written.

I don't usually include much cursing in my stories, but in this chapter there's a conversation where it felt like the participants would have been too out of character if there hadn't been some casual cursing.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own the _Nightmare on Elm Street_ franchise, Wes Craven and New Line Cinema do.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Welcome to my Nightmare**

Harry dropped heavily to the ground behind a large gravestone, desperately trying to slow his breathing so that his gasps didn't give his position away in the darkness. He strained to listen for the sounds of pursuit, but the night was quiet. _Quiet as the grave,_ he thought morosely. It was frankly more disturbing than the sound of Death Eaters chasing him.

 _Where_ _ **are**_ _they?_ he wondered. Nearly a dozen had responded to Voldemort's summons to witness his rebirth, expecting the humiliation and death of the Boy Who Lived for an encore. It was only Voldemort's insistence that he be the one to kill Harry that had let him get away in the first place, but surely they all would have been sent to track him down and bring him back?

"Haaaa-rrrry!"

Harry's heart leapt out of his chest.

"Oh, Haaa-rrrry! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Even as he fought to calm his racing pulse, he frowned at the voice. That clearly wasn't Voldemort, but it didn't sound like any of the Death Eaters, either — the voice was rough, but it almost sounded American. An American looking for him in a graveyard at night? He shook his head to clear it. _Whoever they are, I doubt they're friendly_ , he told himself as he got to his feet.

Crouching low, he moved as fast as he could from one gravestone to the next; yet no matter how far he went, he couldn't seem to find the boundaries of the graveyard. It seemed to go on forever, which wasn't possible. Was it?

"There you are, Harry!"

Harry spun and saw a tall, thin figure bathed in the moonlight. He couldn't see its face, but the bald head and billowing cloak could only mean that Voldemort had finally caught up with him. Harry prepared to defend himself as the resurrected wizard reached into his robes and pulled out...

A hat?

It was definitely a hat — and not even a pointy magical hat like witches and wizards wore, but rather a muggle-looking hat which he immediately put on his head.

Harry whirled around to run, only to find the Dark Lord suddenly standing right in front of him. He couldn't even get his wand raised before Voldemort's left hand was around his throat, choking off his ability to speak as he was lifted up off his feet. Gasping for breath, he stared into Voldemort's blood-red eyes and watched as the pale skin on his face became twisted and scarred, like wax half melted in a fire.

He twisted and kicked, trying to get free of the vise-like grip, but Voldemort seemed completely unconcerned with Harry's struggling — as if he knew that there was nothing Harry could do to free himself. Instead, he just tilted his head in one direction and then the other, examining his victim as if he were an unusual-looking bug.

Harry's eyes widened in shock when Voldemort raised his right hand. Instead of the expected wand, he saw long, thin knives protruding from each of the fingers. One of the blades slowly moved Harry's fringe to the side, revealing the angry, red scar that had made him famous. Voldemort grinned, displaying two rows of yellow, misshapen teeth. It was the first sign of emotion he'd shown since he'd caught his prey.

"Why don't we open this baby up and see what's going on under the hood?" Voldemort cackled before plunging one of the blades into his scar and ripping it sideways.

* * *

" **AAAHHH!** " Harry screamed, sitting upright in bed and panting as if he'd just run a marathon. Fumbling around on the floor, he found his glasses and pulled them on as he desperately looked around his room.

"What in the blazes is going on here?" Vernon bellowed as he stomped into the tiny space. "How dare you wake us like this, boy? You probably woke the entire bloody neighborhood with your screams!"

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry said reflexively, still looking around and wondering what had happened to the graveyard.

"I'm warning you, boy," Vernon growled, poking a meaty finger at him, "you'll keep quiet if you want to stay in my house. Do you hear me? Quiet like the grave! If you aren't, then none of those freaks who threatened me at the train station yesterday will be able to save you!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

With a nod, the angry walrus stomped out of the room, relocking all seven locks on the door. Harry wiped the dripping sweat from his brow, only to find blood mixed in. It didn't take him long to discover that he was bleeding from his forehead — but while the blood was coming from his scar, the source was actually a horizontal cut across his scar, not the scar itself.

"What the **hell**?" Harry exclaimed softly. He rummaged around the pile of clothes in the bottom of his wardrobe and found the oldest, rattiest t-shirt to use as a bandage. It was three in the morning, but he didn't think he'd get back to sleep again. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to go back to sleep.

He was already starting to have trouble remembering the nightmare, which was fine with him; but then he remembered Professor Dumbledore's advice to keep track of any dreams or visions involving Voldemort, so he immediately began writing down everything he could still remember. After he had revised and reread it several times, it dawned on him that while the nightmare had included Voldemort, it hadn't felt the same as any of the other dreams or visions he'd had of the evil wizard. It hadn't even been accompanied by pain in his scar — at least, not if you didn't include the new wound on his forehead, the origin of which was still a mystery.

"Maybe... maybe it was just a nightmare?" he wondered aloud. It seemed like a reasonable conclusion. He had been through a lot of awful experiences over the past year, and he'd had more than one nightmare about dragons, drowning, and the death of Cedric before the spring term had ended. This one had felt different from the others, even though it hadn't felt like a vision sent by Voldemort, but that didn't mean that it wasn't a plain, old, run-of-the-mill bad dream.

"Yeah, just a bad dream," he told himself firmly, finally starting to relax again. "I must have scratched myself in my sleep or something, too." Given Vernon's anger, he anticipated getting an exceptionally long list of chores to do the next day, so he decided to start on his summer essays while he had the chance.

* * *

 **"AAAHHH!** " Harry once again shot upright in bed, screaming in fear and pain. Vernon didn't come stomping into his bedroom this time, though. After he'd woken screaming for the third night in a row, and being punished with extra work but no food, Harry had resorted to drastic measures — including stuffing old clothing along the bottom of his door and tying an old shirt around his face to muffle any sounds.

This was the sixth night in a row, and each one had gotten progressively worse. Every night he found himself in the graveyard with Voldemort, and every night the evil wizard found some new way to torture and terrorize Harry. In the latest, Voldemort had tied him back to the cross-shaped grave marker, then sliced open his belly so he could start pulling out Harry's intestines, one agonizing inch at a time. It had been so bad that Harry was sure he could still feel it...

"Ow!" Harry pulled his hand back from where he'd tried to grab at his stomach where Voldemort had cut him in the dream. There were thin red lines on the t-shirt he'd worn to bed, and when he lifted it, he found four bleeding cuts across his midsection.

"What the bloody hell?" he hissed.

He was still convinced that his nightmares weren't being produced by Voldemort. Quite aside from the fact that they didn't feel like Voldemort, there was the simple matter that in his nightmares, Voldemort wasn't using curses and other spells on him. If Voldemort wanted his insides to be **out** sides, he'd use an organ-expelling curse, not slice him open with a muggle knife.

At the same time, though, this clearly wasn't _normal_. Not even the worst of nightmares produced effects that appeared in the waking world. Since he didn't want to bother (or deal with) the Headmaster just then, that left one other person he could talk to — someone he could always count on to give sound advice when he was struggling with a problem.

Hermione.

Granted, he didn't always _heed_ her advice, but she was always willing to help, and tended to be right far more often than not.

"Fancy a trip to visit Hermione, Hedwig?" Harry asked, and his owl barked softly in response.

It only took Harry a few minutes to explain his problem and summarize the six nightmares he'd had so far, and soon Hedwig was winging her way to Crawley. Now that he was alone — truly alone — he found himself even more bothered by the nightmares than he had been. He shuddered as a faint chill passed over him, but he shook his head and tried to ignore it, resolving to continue with his summer essays in the hope that they would distract him.

Besides, when Hermione wrote back, she'd be sure to ask how far along he was with his assignments, and she'd know if he lied or exaggerated, even over owl post.

* * *

Hermione responded almost immediately, which made Harry feel relief for the first time since he'd woken up screaming after that first nightmare; unfortunately, her advice fell well short of what he'd been hoping for. She wrote a great deal, like she always did, but in the end her advice boiled down to little more than "Tell Professor Dumbledore," a course of action Harry had already rejected as pointless.

Even if he weren't more than a little annoyed at the fact that Dumbledore had failed to protect him from either the tournament or getting kidnapped to be used as a potion ingredient in Voldemort's resurrection, there was still the fact that he was convinced that the nightmare hadn't had anything to do with Voldemort — not directly, at least. Voldemort had appeared, but he hadn't been the source of the nightmare, not like all the other Voldemort-related visions he'd experienced.

He knew it. He knew it with an absolute, unshakeable certainty. He just didn't know how he'd convince Hermione or anyone else of that.

* * *

"Hurry up, boy! We haven't got all day!"

Harry stifled a yawn as he tossed back the rest of his tea and started frying the last of the bacon.

"Vernon, didn't you call up to Dudders already?"

"Oh, leave him be. It's every man's right to sleep in on his birthday."

"But still, I don't want my little Diddykins to miss breakfast, and it's such a long drive to the park."

Harry snorted. As if Dudley had ever missed a meal.

"What was that, boy?"

"Nothing, Uncle Vernon."

Before Vernon could start ranting about how ungrateful Harry was, Dudley finally arrived for the birthday breakfast Harry had been slaving over for the last hour. Normally Dudley showed his lack of appreciation by wolfing it down and demanding more because Harry must have stolen some of it while cooking. This time, Dudley simply picked at the food.

"Aren't you hungry, Diddykins?"

"The boy didn't cook it the way you liked, did he?"

"Sorry, Mum, I'm just... I guess I'm just tired."

Harry took a closer look at his cousin as Petunia fawned over him, worried about him coming down with some illness. Harry was surprised to see that Dudley actually looked a little thinner. He also noticed that his cousin was developing dark circles under his eyes.

"Vernon, maybe we should put off our trip to Alton Towers."

"Nonsense — Dudley's just fine, aren't you, son?"

"Sure, Dad," Dudley replied, sitting up a bit straighter. "I'll be OK by the time we get there."

"That's my boy!"

"We'd better get going if we want to be there when it opens," Petunia announced a few minutes later. After some rather nasty warnings from Vernon about what would happen if he stole food or didn't complete all of his chores by the time they returned, Harry was alone in the house for the first time that he could remember. He used to dream of being left alone, free to do as he wished — eat, drink, even watch the telly.

Instead, what he did was run to his room and get a scrap of parchment from his trunk. He had a phone call to make.

"Granger residence," a voice said expectantly.

"Hi, uh, is Hermione Granger there? This is Harry."

"Harry Potter? Oh, it's so nice to hear your voice! Hermione has written so much about you."

"She... she has?"

"Absolutely, and you're almost all she talks about when she's home over the summers."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that and he was certain that he was blushing when there came a loud "Mum!" in the background followed by some muffled arguing.

"Harry, is that you?"

"Uh, hi, Hermione."

"Please don't pay any attention to my mother. Honestly!" He could practically hear her scowling over the phone. "Now, what's the problem? You said you'd only call me in emergencies because of how your relatives would react."

"I don't think I'll have to worry about their reaction, since they're gone for the day," Harry said.

"Oh, that's good; but it doesn't answer my question."

Harry sighed, unsurprised that she hadn't been deflected. Then again, why was he so reluctant to answer anyway? Isn't that why he was calling?

"You're still having nightmares, aren't you?"

"I... I..." _How in Merlin's name did she figure that out?_ "Yes," he finally said. "And no, I haven't told Professor Dumbledore. This has nothing to do with Voldemort."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because every vision or dream I've gotten from Voldemort has been accompanied by pain in my scar, just like when I'm near him physically," Harry explained. "None of my nightmares have come with that pain. And more than that, there's... there's just this certain feeling to visions or dreams from him. A... a quality or flavor. I don't know how to put it into words, but after you have a couple of them, you know what to look for, and I've had enough of these new nightmares to tell the difference."

"How many?" Hermione asked, and Harry could tell by the tone of her voice that she was listening — _really_ listening, rather than simply humoring him until she could convince him to do things her way.

"Every night," he said. "I only get a couple of hours sleep at most."

"Oh, Harry! That's not healthy! No wonder you called..."

"Do you know anything about dreams and nightmares?" Harry interrupted. "Is it possible that something magical is attacking me? I mean, other than Voldemort, obviously."

"I can't imagine what, given the protections the Headmaster is supposed to have put on your relatives' home," Hermione said. "And there really isn't much in the way of dream magic, Harry. I looked it up after you told me about dreams you had last year. There are ways for a witch or wizard to take control of their own dreams, but muggles can do the same, even if not as easily. Seers are supposed to be able to have dreams of the future, but from what you described I don't think that's what's going on with you."

"I bloody well hope not!"

"Language, Harry!"

"So, that's it?"

"Not necessarily. Witches and wizards don't seem to have done much research into dreams, but I know muggles have. I'll go to the library today to find what's available. Maybe this weekend I can make a trip to one of the larger bookstores in London to see what they have. If I come across anything at all, I promise I'll write to you."

"OK, I'll send Hedwig to your place to wait."

"I'm sure there's something, Harry, I just need to find it."

"I have complete faith in your ability to find a needle in a haystack, no matter how large the haystack is."

"Thanks," he heard her mumble.

"Hermione, do you think it's worth me taking Dreamless Sleep Potion? If I promised to pay you back, maybe you could pick some up for me in Diagon Alley? I'd go myself, but there's no way I'd be able to get there."

The line fell silent, and Harry could easily imagine her biting her bottom lip in thought. "I could do that, I suppose, but I don't recommend it. Dreamless Sleep Potion is highly addictive, and I don't think it's recommended for more than a couple of nights in a row."

"But still, even if I used it once or twice a week, that would be one or two full nights of sleep, which is more than I'm getting now."

"Fine, but I'm going to ask how often it can be safely taken, and you have to promise me that you don't take it any more often than that."

"Yeah, sure."

"Promise me, Harry. I won't help you get addicted to this."

"I swear, Hermione. I won't use it any more often than you allow. In fact, you can keep it yourself and only send it as often as you think is safe."

There was another pause before she said, "No, if you promise, then I'll trust you. I just want to be sure you understand how serious this is."

"I do, honest. I just... I'm just so tired all the time. I'm sure that's not safe, either."

"No, it's not, which is why I promise I'll help you get to the bottom of this."

"Thanks, Hermione. I knew I could count on you."

"And don't you forget it!"

Harry smiled. "So, do you really write about me all the time?"

He was positive that he could hear all the blood rushing to her face in what must have been the loudest blush on record. "No! I mean, I do mention you, but it's... of course it's because of how much trouble you get me into!"

"Yes, of course," Harry replied, grinning widely now. "What else could it be?"

"Exactly. Now, if I'm going to do that research for you, I'd better get going."

"Yeah, and I have a list of chores as long as my arm that I have to finish before they get back."

"...Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay safe."

"Don't I always?"

"As a matter of fact, no."

"Oh... well, uh, I'll try."

Hermione huffed. "I guess that will have to do. I'll send a letter with Hedwig once I've learned anything."

"Thanks, I look forward to it. Bye, Hermione."

"Bye, Harry."

* * *

True to her word, Hermione sent him a letter a couple of days later. She'd been able to find lots of information on dream interpretation and the psychology behind dreams, but little else. Even worse, she'd sent just a single vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion — apparently it was so tightly restricted due to its addictive qualities that she was only able to buy one per week, the maximum safe dosage without a healer in attendance.

This was definitely a disappointment, but it did mean that he managed to get one decent night's sleep that week. That was probably why he still had enough energy a few days later to take a walk around the neighborhood.

It was at the local park that he stumbled across Dudley, sitting alone in a swing and smoking a cigarette. It was only when Harry noticed Dudley's suit that he recalled that today was Piers' funeral.

He thought about moving on before he was noticed, but then he remembered how Cedric's death had been for him — and still was, frankly — despite the fact that the two had barely known each other. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed forward and dropped into the swing next to Dudley. The two of them sat there in silence for several minutes, slowly swaying back and forth.

"How was it?" Harry finally ventured.

"It sucked — whaddya think?"

Harry shrugged. "That it sucked."

Dudley frowned for a moment. "You ever been to a friend's funeral?"

"No, but I've watched a friend die."

His frown deepened. "That'd suck more."

"Yep."

They were quiet for a long while before Harry tried again. "How did it happen? I remember seeing the police and ambulance go by, but that was it. Even your mum and dad haven't said much, and you know how your mum is..."

"Yeah, she never shuts up when there's gossip," Dudley agreed. He looked around as if he wanted to be sure they were alone. "If I tell you, you gotta promise not to laugh."

Harry looked at his cousin incredulously.

"I mean it!" he said, raising one large fist. "If you laugh, I'll punch you!"

"Sure, Dudley," Harry said, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I won't laugh, I promise."

"Good," he said as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it from the one he'd been smoking. "It started earlier this month. I don't know when, exactly, but Piers started getting nightmares." Harry stiffened, but Dudley was staring off into the distance and didn't notice. "At first they were just bad dreams, you know? Scary, but that's all. Then he said they started getting worse and worse. About a week ago, he showed me bruises and cuts he said he'd gotten in his nightmares."

"And you believed him?" Harry asked carefully.

"Of course I believed him — he was my mate!" Dudley growled. "But it's more than that. He isn't the only one who's been having nightmares. Dennis, Gordon, Malcolm, they've all been having them. None of them have been sleeping well, you can tell; but they don't want to talk about it. And now Piers is dead. Everyone is saying he was murdered. That he was butchered in his own bedroom by an intruder, but I don't believe it. I think it was his dreams."

"And you? Are you having nightmares?"

"Yeah, me too," Dudley admitted with a deep sigh, reaching down into the bag by his feet and pulling out a thin blue and silver can.

"What's that?"

"Energy drink," he answered. "Helps keep me awake."

"Better than coffee?"

Dudley shrugged. "Tastes better. Got sick of coffee after about two weeks."

Harry held out a hand. "Pass me one?"

Dudley's eyes narrowed. "Why would you want one?"

"Because your mum's tea isn't cutting it anymore."

"You...?"

Harry nodded. "All month."

"Bullshite."

Harry lifted his shirt to reveal the four thin cuts that were still healing.

"Fuck me," Dudley breathed. Without another word, he reached for the bag and got out a can for Harry. "I thought maybe it was only us. Maybe we did something, or drank something, or... I dunno. But if it's you, too..." Dudley paused, then looked suspiciously at Harry. "This isn't any of your freaky shite, is it?"

Harry shook his head. "A friend of mine looked into it. Apparently, wiz... uh, my kind know less about dreams than normal people. There doesn't seem to be any sort of freaky stuff that can affect dreams. Or at least none that she can find, and she's the best at research, so I believe her."

Dudley continued to stare hard at him, but Harry held his gaze until finally his cousin nodded wearily.

"Why are you still smoking?" Harry asked. "I thought cigarettes relaxed you."

Dudley regarded his cigarette for a moment before putting it in his mouth and holding up his right hand, revealing several red burns on his fingers. "Cuz with a cigarette in my hand, I can't fall asleep for more than a few minutes before the burning wakes me."

"That's fucked up, Dud."

"Yeah, but not as fucked up as what's waiting for me if I fall asleep." He lit another cigarette and held the pack out to Harry. "Want one?"

"No thanks — I'm not that desperate yet."

Dudley shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"So, what is it that's waiting for you in your dreams? I mean, if you don't mind my asking?"

Dudley looked away for a moment, then brushed angrily at his eyes before speaking. "Piers and I would talk about it some. He wouldn't tell me everything, like he didn't want to even think about it too much, but we did talk. I thought talking helped, at least a little." He took a long swig from his drink. "In the most recent one, I tried to fight back against the bloke who keeps showing up. I tried to use the boxing moves I've been learning, but my fists sank into him, like I was punching a giant marshmallow or something. Then the holes I made in him grew teeth that bit my hands off." Dudley shuddered as he took a drag on his cigarette. "The night before was worse, though. I dreamt I was in that cabin on the sea again, but instead of simply being given a tail, I was turned completely into a pig. Then that bloke whipped out the knives he has for fingers and started carving me up for others to eat. I was alive the entire time, too, watching them eat slices of me. They kept complimenting the cook and asking for seconds."

Harry shuddered at the image, then thought about what Dudley had said. "Wait, did you say he has knives for fingers?"

"Yeah, he does, only... not really. I mean, he has regular fingers, I think, but knives attached to them somehow. I know, it sounds stupid, but it's a dream, innit? It's not supposed to make sense."

Harry stared at his cousin, his heart pounding. He couldn't have said whether it was from excitement or terror. "And did he wear a hat? A dirty, old hat?" Dudley frowned in confusion, but nodded. "And a sweater? Red and green stripes?"

Dudley nodded again. "How...?"

Harry lifted his shirt again, revealing the cuts. "Were the knives on his fingers about this far apart?"

Dudley reached out with one hand, almost close enough to touch, and spread his own fingers out. "Yeah," he whispered. "I don't understand... how can we both be dreaming about the same nutter? It doesn't make sense."

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea, but maybe it's a clue or something. I'll have to..." He stopped and looked around, noticing that dark clouds had moved in, blocking the sun.

Dudley took a deep drag on his cigarette and pulled his jacket tight as he glanced around them uneasily. "Is it getting cold all the sudden?"

"We need to get out of here," Harry said, jumping up out of the swing. "Something's wrong."

"I really don't want to go home yet," Dudley whinged. "Mum and Dad won't leave me alone, asking how I'm doing after..."

"I mean it, Dudley," Harry hissed, grabbing his cousin's arm and pulling him to his feet. "There's something **wrong** here. Can't you feel it."

Dudley looked around more carefully and shivered. "I dunno. I just feel... sad. Depressed. But why wouldn't I? I mean, with Piers dead and all the nightmares, of course I don't feel like I'll ever be happy again."

"That's it — dementors!" Harry exclaimed, the memories suddenly clicking into place. He yanked on Dudley's arm and started dragging him along. "We have to get out of here!"

"What are dementoids?"

"Dementors. They suck out your soul!"

"Shite!" Dudley started running on his own now as the cold and sadness pressed in on them from all sides. "Through here," he said, pointing to the underpass on their left. "It's a shortcut back to the house!" They were halfway through when Harry came to a sudden stop, almost getting knocked over by Dudley. "What?" his cousin demanded.

Harry pointed to the far end. "Dementor! It's waiting for us."

"I don't see nuthin'!"

"Normal people can't see them," Harry said tersely, stepping forward and drawing his wand. That was when Dudley screamed.

Harry turned and saw that a second dementor had come up behind them, grabbing Dudley by his collar and spinning him around to give him the kiss.

"Dudley!" Harry screamed as he watched his cousin flailing about, held up off the ground by the much taller dementor. The cold increased around him and he knew that the other dementor was approaching from behind, so he did the only thing he could: he held up his wand and cried, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

At first there was only a white mist — not enough to drive the dementors off, but enough to make them pause. Harry used the momentary relief to try once again, this time with more force. _"_ _ **Expecto Patronum!**_ _"_

A massive, silvery stag burst forth from his wand and immediately attacked the dementor in front of him. The foul thing dropped Dudley as it screeched, rushing out of the underpass. Not wasting a moment, the patronus wheeled around and charged the other dementor. It fled with a shriek and the stag followed after, tossing its horns in defiance until its glow dissipated into the night.

In the silence that followed, warmth slowly began creeping back and Dudley stirred sluggishly.

"Dudley, are you OK?" Harry asked, and his cousin shook his head.

"I don't... see how... I'll ever be... OK again."

"You've got chocolate at home, don't you?"

Dudley gave him a disbelieving look, but at Harry's impatient insistence, he nodded.

"Good, it helps. No, I mean it — my kind uses it to counter the effects of such creatures. The better the chocolate, the better it will work."

Harry shifted his wand to his other hand and extended his free one to help Dudley, who slowly got to his feet. "Mum has really expensive chocolate that she saves for guests," he whispered as he leaned on Harry for support. "She never lets me have any, though. She even counts how many of those stupid little squares she has."

"Now you have an excuse to eat them all," Harry said with a forced grin, and Dudley choked out a half-hearted laugh.

Almost as surprising as the dementors was the presence of one of their neighbors as they exited the underpass. Harry fumbled to hide his wand.

"Mrs. Figg?"

"Don't put that wand away, boy! They might come back!"

"But—"

"Yes, I know about dementors — I may be a squib, but I'm not completely daft."

"But—"

"Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on you when he first brought you here. Oh, he won't be pleased when I tell him about this! Just wait 'til I get my hands on Mundungus..."

"But—"

"Don't just stand there gawping, boy — get this young hooligan home while he can still walk!"

The dotty old lady then bustled off in the direction of her home. Harry almost gagged at the memory of how thick the odor of cat and camomile was whenever he'd been dumped there by his relatives.

"I always knew there was something wrong with her," Dudley said as they headed off in the other direction. Harry couldn't bring himself to disagree.

Vernon and Petunia were predictably enraged once they got back to the house, immediately assuming that Harry had attacked their son. They seemed to be on the verge of kicking Harry out for good when Dudley somehow managed to stagger to his feet.

"Leave him alone!" he shouted.

"Dudders?" Vernon asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

"I said... leave him alone," Dudley repeated shakily.

"Here," Harry said, handing his cousin a basket he'd fetched from the kitchen.

Petunia started to protest. "That's my good—"

"Your good chocolate, yeah," Harry interrupted. "Chocolate is the best way to counter dementors, and the better the chocolate, the better it works. Dudley needs it right now more than your guests."

Petunia paled at that, but Vernon started building up for a good rant again. "And how do you know that, huh? Did you bring those demon things here? You're responsible for this, aren't you?"

"Harry didn't do anything, Dad," Dudley replied as he shoved another dark square in his mouth. "Nothing except save me from having my soul sucked out." Both Vernon and Petunia gasped, and Dudley took the opportunity to toss Harry a few pieces of the chocolate. "Here — I know they affected you, too." Harry nodded his thanks and opened one.

"Pet, is what he's saying true?" Vernon asked as he sat on the couch.

Petunia nodded. "I remember that... I remember someone talking about them. They guard your kind's prison, don't they?"

"Then what were they doing here?" Vernon demanded.

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea, but that's what they were."

"They're like something out of a nightmare, aren't they?" Petunia asked as she looked back and forth between Harry and Dudley in horror.

Both boys stared at each other mutely, unsure how to respond.

"I don't know," Harry finally managed. He looked at his cousin's ashen face and saw raw fear there. His own voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "Some nightmares are worse."


	12. I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire

**I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire**

 **Summary:** While on an expedition to recover ancient Egyptian artifacts from a sunken ship, Dahlia Potter is assaulted by Isis, a Goa'uld symbiote that had been in stasis for millennia. Dahlia is able to avoid being taken over as a host, but she isn't the same after acquiring all of Isis' memories in the process. What she decides to do with that knowledge will change the fate of the galaxy.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Stargate

 **Pairing:** Dahlia Potter/Hermione Granger

 **A/N:** Another Stargate crossover! This would be a darker story than the other because absorbing thousands of years of memories of committing innumerable atrocities will necessarily have a big impact on Dahlia's personality — and not for the better. Dahlia still has her "saving people thing," but she's a lot more ruthless about it, even perhaps to the point of losing sight of the fact that there are people to save in the first place. With any luck, Hermione will be able to keep her from falling too far, but Hermione has her own darker impulses, as well as reasons to not be gentle with obstinate, bigoted people.

Thanks to Mainsail for beta reading this and to Bonnie for not only improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own _Stargate_ , MGM does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Mind Games**

 **February, 2003. Somewhere in the Atlantic.**

"You look like shit, you know."

"Gee, thanks — just what a girl loves to hear. I can totally see how Fleur fell for your charms."

Bill laughed heartily at that, but Dahlia was too busy fighting the urge to throw up all over him to even smile back. The best she could manage was a grimace, which amused him even more.

"But seriously," he continued, "you do look pretty bad. Worse than usual, even."

"That might have something to do with the fact that we're experiencing the worst storm of the trip," she pointed out. She hadn't known she got seasick so easily, not before joining Bill on this Gringotts-funded expedition to recover ancient Egyptian treasures from the wreck of the Stewart Expedition ship. She sure knew it now, though.

"At least it's also the last day we'll be on this site," Bill said.

Dahlia simply nodded, not wanting to risk opening her mouth as the ship heaved up and down again.

He looked at her pityingly. "Look, why don't you turn in early?" he offered. "This is the last batch of artifacts. I can handle cataloging them alone." At her pathetically hopeful expression, he smiled and made shooing motions at her. "Go on! I'll be fine."

With a grateful look, she turned and stumbled back to her cabin, weaving back and forth as the ship rolled. She was sure that she felt worse by the time she'd made it to her bunk, but she tried not to think about it too hard. She simply lay down, clutching a plastic bag while making repeated vows to inform her superiors at Gringotts to never send her on an ocean expedition again. She'd stick to nice, safe, solid, land-based assignments from now on, thank you very much.

* * *

It was late when Dahlia awoke, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. It wasn't just the rolling of the sea that was bothering her, though truth be told that seemed to have gotten slightly better. No, there was something else going on. Something was scratching at the back of her mind, signalling a threat of some sort.

She hadn't vanquished Voldemort and then become one of the youngest curse-breakers Gringotts ever sent out into the field by ignoring such feelings. She sat up, took several deep breaths to settle herself, then pulled herself to her feet. It took a bit for her to stumble out of her cabin and start moving through the ship. She couldn't go three feet without bumping hard into a wall, and she honestly didn't know her way around very well despite having lived on the ship for three weeks. She had told anyone who would listen — and quite a few who didn't want to — that ships had obviously been designed to confuse and demoralize landlubbers like herself.

Not that she had a particular destination in mind anyway. She had no idea what was causing her spidey-senses to tingle, much less where the threat might have been, so instead she simply wandered around in the hope that she'd stumble across the problem. It had worked on the Horcrux Hunt, after all.

Eventually she found herself in the hold where the artifacts they'd recovered from the Stewart ship were packed and stored... and that was when the scratching in the back of her mind turned into full-blown alarm bells. That wasn't the most disturbing thing, however. The most disturbing thing was the fact that the bells were accompanied by a soft, sibilant whispering that reminded her of how Voldemort had used parseltongue to whisper in her mind. If it weren't for the fact that she didn't feel the slightest twinge in her scar, she'd have been worried that he was back.

The whispering seemed to increase in intensity the deeper she moved in among the artifacts, until she found herself in front of a crate of items that had been recovered and packed earlier that day. A swish of her wand removed the lid, revealing two canopic jars, one topped with the head of Osiris and the other with that of Isis. The Osiris jar was cracked, but the Isis jar was intact.

And it seemed to be calling to her.

She cast several detection spells and found nothing. Not just no curses, wards, poisons, or other dangers — she found nothing at all, which shouldn't have been possible. She should have been able to get _some_ sort of result, and the absence of anything was in itself worrying.

She reached out with one hand and found that the jar was surprisingly warm to the touch. As she stroked the Isis head, she heard a click and the lid abruptly spun off. The whispers became shouts that she could finally understand.

 _"Come. Submit. Worship."_

Dahlia gasped when she saw what looked like a tiny snake. Faster than she could think, it leapt out at her, and suddenly she felt something warm and squishy in her mouth. She collapsed to her knees, wracked by more pain than she'd ever experienced outside of a torture curse from Voldemort.

 _"_ _ **Submit. Isis. Worship. Goddess. Submit. Host. Mine!**_ _"_

The pain was in her throat, then in her skull as the voice was shouting, demanding that she completely submit her entire will and being. There was something moving and twisting inside her brain, inside her mind, threatening to torture and kill her if she didn't turn over her body to her new goddess.

 _"No!"_ she growled through gritted teeth. "Voldemort couldn't control me. He was inside my mind and my very soul for sixteen years, and I never submitted to him. You think you can do better? Bring it on, bitch!"

The pain increased a thousandfold as she screamed and screamed until her throat was raw. Then everything went black.

* * *

"Miss Potter?"

Dahlia groaned at the pounding in her head.

"Miss Potter, are you awake? If you can sit up, I can give you something for the pain."

That managed to get Dahlia's attention, and she tried to blink her eyes open. A woman with a kind face and wearing green Healer robes was standing next to her, and the spartan decor told her that she was in some sort of hospital.

"Wha—?" she croaked as the healer helped her sit up.

"Take this," the woman said in accented English. "It will help, I promise."

Dahlia quickly downed the nasty potion and was pleased to find that it did indeed relieve some of the pain — not all of it, and not as much as she might have hoped, but she did feel better.

"To answer your questions, you're in a Gringotts facility in Marseilles, France. I'm Healer Peruse. You've been with us in a coma for over a week. Something happened to you on a ship, but no one knew what. You were found unconscious, and when they couldn't revive you, they sent you here via emergency portkey. The ship itself is expected to arrive back in Britain in a couple of days." The Healer cast several diagnostic charms before saying, "Now you stay here while I go get someone."

Dahlia pressed her hands against her head as hazy memories began to shift into focus.

Seasickness. Whispering. A battle.

Her opponent had called itself Isis. It or she had claimed to be a goddess, but Dahlia knew better. Isis had been an alien snake, a member of a species known as the Goa'uld. They were stinking parasites, not gods, and this one had tried to take her over — to control her. It had wanted to use her as a host in order to regain control of... of... of an empire? An empire spanning multiple planets?

She shuddered as more impressions came, this time a flood of memories from thousands of years of history, war, atrocities, being worshipped, technology, and more. If she hadn't been forced by Gringotts to finally develop good Occlumency skills, she was sure she'd have gone insane trying to deal with the massive amounts of information that had seeped into her brain while she was unconscious. Whatever Isis knew, she now knew, including Isis' plans to escape this backwater planet and reestablish control over her empire, then return as a conqueror, subjugating and enslaving the primitive humans in order to ruthlessly exploit the planet's resources.

Plans that Dahlia decided in a split second to adapt to her own ends.

"Curse-Breaker Potter, you look like shit!"

Dahlia looked up to see her boss, Gutshank, standing inside the doorway.

"Thanks. I seem to get that a lot."

Gutshank grunted in amusement as he approached her bed. "Maybe you should think about why and do something about it."

"Yes," Dahlia said, nodding slowly. "I might do that."

"The healer says they still don't know what put you into a coma, much less why you woke. Nevertheless, she can't find anything wrong with you and suggests that you'll be fit to return to work in a few days."

"No," Dahlia said, "I don't think so."

"What? If this is about your reaction to being at sea, Curse-Breaker Weasley has already discussed it with me. At length! I can assure you that you won't be going on any sea expeditions again."

"No, it's not that, sir. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to submit my resignation."

Gutshank eyed her critically for several long moments. "I don't suppose you'll tell me why?" he asked at last.

"No. Sorry, but it's personal."

He sighed. "Very well. I can't say that I like it, but we can't force you to stay. If you ever change your mind, let me know. Normally we don't let employees return after they've resigned, but in your case I _might_ make an exception."

Dahlia nodded, knowing that this was high praise from a goblin. She'd keep in touch, since she'd likely come across ancient artifacts that she could sell to them, but she knew that she wouldn't be back for a job. She had much bigger things to do. She had a planet to save. Or maybe to conquer? Perhaps it was both. She found it difficult to separate the two. After that, she had an empire to... create? Destroy? She wasn't clear on that, either, but she knew it was important. There were millions of humans out there who needed... liberation? leadership? Something. She'd give it to them, at any rate. Oh, yes, and it would be for their own good, too. They'd love her for it.

She shook her head, dismissing the confusion in favor of focusing on the here and now. She slowly rose from the bed, feeling a bit unsteady after having lain in a coma for so long, and began focusing on the next steps. First, she needed her clothes. Then she needed to get out of there. And after that, she needed to get to Egypt.

There was a Tel'tak hidden there, and she knew exactly where to find it.

* * *

 **Eighteen months later, somewhere over continental Europe.**

Dahlia reread the letter for what must have been the hundredth time and was no more certain about what to do than she had been after her first read-through. It had been six years since she'd last seen Hermione Granger. Six years since their big fight when Dahlia had tried to convince her best friend that despite defeating Voldemort, too little had changed in wizarding Britain and everything was bound to go downhill again. Six years since Hermione had accused her of defeatism, telling her that if she was so convinced that nothing could change, then she should leave and stop wasting her time with people who cared.

Which was exactly what Dahlia had done the next day. The fact that she'd intended that weekend to finally reveal her true feelings to Hermione hadn't mattered — she'd been rejected, definitively and absolutely, and so resolved never to darken Hermione's doorstep ever again.

Now, six years later, she'd received a letter from her, asking for a meeting. Dahlia wanted to go, because she still wasn't over the bushy-haired witch and was desperate to see her. And she _didn't_ want to go, for the exact same reasons. She'd never get over Hermione if she didn't learn to let go, yet how would she manage that if she went running back whenever Hermione called? Not even her... _changes_ had managed to loosen the hold that witch had on her heart, even when every other attachment and emotion had been seriously destabilized.

 _Then again, maybe this is exactly what I need?_ she mused. _Maybe the only way to get closure is to see her one more time?_

Finally arriving at a decision, she penned a quick note, then went to the cockpit to change course and head back to Britain. Searching Antarctica for leftover alien technology would have to wait.

* * *

 **Leaky Cauldron.**

Dahlia had been nervously waiting for over half an hour when Hermione arrived, right on time. Dahlia had told herself that she'd gotten there so early because she wanted to get a good table, or maybe because she wanted time to ensure that the place was safe. It certainly wasn't due to anxiety over seeing Hermione for the first time in so long.

That was what she kept telling herself, at any rate.

She stood as Hermione approached the table and froze when she realized she didn't know what to do — not that Hermione looked any more confident. After a moment they both laughed nervously and leaned in to give the barest of hugs — the sort of hug you give someone when it's expected, not out of any real affection. Dahlia avoided meeting Hermione's eyes, not wanting to let on how much that had hurt.

"So," Dahlia said once they'd ordered dinner. "I was surprised to get a letter from you."

"I know — I was surprised when I wrote it. I saw you exiting Gringotts here the other day, and I froze. It had been so long, but I recognized you instantly. It felt strange to see you, yet to not be able to talk to you. It bothered me, and finally I decided that I had to write. To see you, no matter what."

Dahlia smiled slightly. "I might have done the same."

"So what were you doing here? The last I'd heard, you'd left Britain entirely."

"I was selling some things I'd acquired. My old boss, Gutshank, was transferred here and whenever I see something shiny that I think Gringotts would like, I sell it through him. Because I use him exclusively, he gives me a better price and keeps me up-to-date on rumors and other bits of information that don't make it into the mainstream press."

"So, you don't work for them as a curse-breaker anymore?"

"Not for over a year now. I'm... independent. Doing field research and such. What're you doing these days?"

Hermione sighed and took a sip of her wine. "Well, for the past day or so I've been wishing that I'd joined you on your travels." Dahlia quirked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as Hermione fell silent for a bit. "Things haven't been all that great for me," she finally went on. "I had so many hopes and dreams when we graduated Hogwarts, but so far none of them have gone anywhere. What's worse, I'm not sure they will."

"Are you sure that you aren't just being impatient?" Dahlia asked.

"Not hardly," Hermione huffed. "It's not like I expected to be Minister of Magic by now, after all. But I did expect that things would be going better. That I'd be on a career path where I'd see steady improvements, both for me personally and society generally." She took another, larger sip of wine.

"So what's the problem?"

"None of the causes that I've championed, like freedom and rights for house elves, have seen any progress. My so-called 'career' in the Ministry is going absolutely nowhere. I'm stuck in a low-level position in administration where I'm not able to do anything meaningful. I'm barely able to make ends meet these days, too. It's gotten so bad that I've had to borrow from my parents several times simply to keep my tiny, one-room apartment in Hogsmeade."

"Times are tough all over—"

"That's not the problem," Hermione interrupted as she poured herself another glass of wine. "Lots of people in wizarding Britain are doing well — they have influence, power, money, you name it. And they all have one thing in common. Can you guess what it is?"

"They're all from old pureblood families?" Dahlia hazarded. She wasn't surprised in the least — it was what she'd told Hermione would happen.

"Right in one! Even the Malfoys are respected and influential again, if you can believe it. No one seems to care that they bankrolled two disastrous civil wars in the past thirty years! They're purebloods and they're from an old family, so they're automatically important. If you're muggleborn, then you don't matter — including me, even after all I've done for this society. After all I've sacrificed! I suspect the only reason they keep me around at all is because I'm a war hero. I'm their token muggleborn, the witch they point to when they want to say that they aren't bigoted gits."

Hermione quickly downed her wine and poured another. Dahlia suspected that she hadn't noticed that she was the only one drinking and would soon finish the bottle on her own. Dahlia liked wine and used to drink it, but she'd found that her recently-acquired memories and personality changes didn't mix well with alcohol. It was tough enough keeping an even keel and maintaining her facade of civility without the effects of strong drink thrown in.

"The pureblood traditionalists have regained nearly all of their lost ground," Hermione continued bitterly. "They head all the departments in the Ministry. They hold all the positions on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. They even hold most of the staff positions in Hogwarts now, too." Hermione's voice had been getting steadily louder as her rant continued, and when Dahlia surreptitiously looked around, she could tell that a few of the other patrons were paying attention. They'd started staring as soon as Dahlia herself had come in, but their expressions had been shifting from curiosity to hostility over the course of Hermione's diatribe.

This was why she avoided bringing a staff weapon with her in public, even disillusioned. Too many temptations to start using it.

"So, I've been studying in my spare time for a Rune Mastery," Hermione concluded after upending the last of the wine into her glass. "Once I get that, maybe some more career paths will open up for me. Anything's gotta be better than what I've been doing. I've completed most of the research, too. Mostly what's left is to organize it, verify a few things, write it up, and submit it. Once it's accepted, I can start looking for work elsewhere. Maybe even outside of Britain, though I hear most countries are just as bad as this one — or worse, if you can believe it."

Dahlia eyed Hermione closely, thinking about how desperate the other witch sounded. She hadn't noticed it before, but in retrospect the letter had had a tone of desperation, too. Then she looked around once more at the expressions on some of the faces around them.

"It's getting late," Dahlia said as she stood. "What say we go back to my place and keep talking there?"

Hermione blinked at her. "You still have a place in Britain?" she asked, draining her glass and looking a little forlornly at the empty bottle.

"I never sold Sirius' family home."

"What? Where is... oh!" Comprehension dawned on her face as she realized she'd forgotten something without ever having realized it.

"Let's go," Dahlia said, helping an unsteady Hermione to her feet. Keeping her hand on the other witch's arm, she led them out the muggle side of the pub and into a nearby alley. She leaned in close to whisper, "Dahlia Potter lives in Number 12, Grimmauld Place."

As Hermione thought about the secret, Dahlia stepped back and began casting spells on her. "I have some nasty wards around my place," she explained. "I learned a lot about wards as a curse-breaker, both how to take them down and how to create them." Once she was done, she grabbed Hermione's arm again and apparated them both to her front step, trying hard not to think about how much she enjoyed the physical contact.

"I never noticed that I'd forgotten where this place was," Hermione noted as Dahlia let them inside. Even the short walk seemed to have cleared her head a bit. "I guess I assumed you'd sold it after you left."

"I'm sure everyone thought something like that," Dahlia responded as she took Hermione's jacket and led her into the living room. "If you're not consciously aware of the Fidelius Charm being cast, your mind makes up rationalizations for why information is missing. It protects you from potential backlash if you try too hard to figure out what's been magically concealed."

Hermione nodded absently as she looked around the room. "You've fixed this place up," she said as she walked over to a wall with photos. "It's a lot friendlier than when the Order was here." Dahlia left the room to fix some tea, and when she returned, she found Hermione focused intently on the largest photo of the collection. It was right in the center of the wall and showed Dahlia and Hermione, their arms wrapped around each other while standing in front of Hogwarts castle.

"I remember when this was taken," Hermione said softly. "It was a week before graduation, and about a month before..."

An awkward silence descended when she didn't finish that thought, and after a moment, Dahlia said, "Yeah, I, um, put that up shortly after coming here after graduation. So, uh, tea?"

"How come I don't see any photos from after that time?" Hermione asked once they were sitting. "Nothing from your work, nothing from abroad."

Dahlia shrugged. "I've never been close enough to anyone since... well, since we went our separate ways. I haven't seen the point." Hermione's expression turned sad, but before she could say anything Dahlia tried to change the subject. "So, what's your Rune Mastery research about?"

Hermione's eyes lit up just as she'd expected — just as they always had when Hermione was asked to talk about some interesting bit of academic research. "Enchanting, but not just any old enchanting. I'm researching how to integrate magic with muggle technology."

"Do you think that's possible?" Dahlia asked, suspecting that it was. She could use magic around Goa'uld technology without any issues, though she didn't know why. She thought it had to do with the use of crystals instead of transistors and wires, but she didn't understand how the technology worked well enough to be sure. That was one of the weaknesses of the Goa'uld: as scavengers, they didn't understand their own technology nearly as well as they would have if they'd developed it themselves.

Unfortunately, that lack of deep understanding now extended to her as well, and she'd never learned enough advanced science on her own to easily make up for it.

"Absolutely," Hermione said, sounding excited. "I've already had some successes in my tests, too. You know that I've always wanted to make a difference, to make the world a better place. I originally thought that working in the Ministry would let me do that, but now I'm hoping that my research will. If I'm right, it will be possible to not merely shield electronics from magic, but use magic to enhance muggle technology. Using runes, I think we might be able to make things lighter, stronger, more powerful, you name it!"

"That's great!" Dahlia responded, and she genuinely meant it. "If you succeed, you'll have all the money and influence you could want. You might be able to pursue some of your other ambitions."

"Yeah, maybe," Hermione replied, suddenly looking depressed.

"What's wrong?"

"That all assumes that I'll ever even be allowed to publish my research, let alone use it. Do you remember Padma? She's working in the Department of Mysteries these days. She knows about my research and supports it, but she's cautioned me that traditionalists are pushing for more and more restrictions on how magic can be used, especially in conjunction with muggle items. She thinks it's possible that my research will end up being proscribed as soon as it's completed, which would put me on a special watch list for the rest of my life. It could lead to me losing my current job without having anything to move on to."

Dahlia felt her heart constrict as she watched Hermione curl in on herself. Almost immediately, though, her sadness was crushed and replaced by a towering rage _Those worms! How dare they threaten to destroy Hermione's spirit and dreams while keeping wizarding Britain from progressing!_ She closed her eyes and was just barely able to suppress the urge to raze the entire Ministry, and it was a while before she could achieve a measure of calm again.

When she opened her eyes, she found Hermione looking at her with a curious expression on her face. Smiling in an attempt to be reassuring, she asked. "What if I could give you that?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I could give you your chance to change the world?" Dahlia asked. "To make it better. To save it, even from itself."

Hermione sighed and set her cup down. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Something dangerous and crazy," she replied, giving Hermione a lopsided grin.

"So, the usual, in other words."

"Not exactly," Dahlia insisted. "I'm not looking for you to save my butt this time. I'm looking more for... a partner."

"I suppose you're going to push ahead with this anyway, whatever it is, with or without me?" When Dahlia nodded, Hermione continued, "Fine — tell me what it is."

"No, first I'm going to need your word that you won't say anything to anyone. This is too big."

Hermione frowned at her for a moment, then she sighed. "Alright, I promise I won't say anything to anyone — not without your permission."

"Thanks. Let's go," Dahlia said, holding out her hand to help Hermione stand.

"Where are we going?"

Dahlia hooked an arm through one of Hermione's and pulled her close as they stepped into a metal circle that had been embedded in the floor, reveling in the contact again. "Do you trust me?"

"To get us into trouble, yes. But won't your wards prevent us from apparating in here?"

"This isn't apparition. This is... different," Dahlia said, slapping the control crystal on the wrist device that had been hidden by her sleeve. There was a deep thrumming sound as metal rings rose up from the floor, surrounding them and bathing them in light. Hermione had just enough time to start to scream before they were dematerialized and transported to the cloaked Tel'tak that had been parked in high earth orbit.

* * *

 **Tel'tak** _ **Phoenix**_ **, 36,000 Kilometers Above London.**

Hermione's scream cut off the instant after they rematerialized, only to be replaced by her asking, "Who? Where? How?" as her head whipped this way and that. "What the bloody hell did you do?"

"This way," Dahlia indicated, leading the other witch to the cockpit.

Hermione froze as she looked out through the cockpit window, seeing the Earth for the first time from space. "This... this can't be..."

"Oh, it is."

"But... how?"

"Sit," Dahlia said, pushing a shell-shocked Hermione into the co-pilot's seat. "This is going to be a long story." And it was. Dahlia spent the next half hour explaining what had happened to her at the end of her last expedition with Gringotts, how she'd had to fight against an alien parasite, how she'd thereby gained thousands of years of knowledge, and how she was now trying to collect as much alien technology as she could in anticipation of the aliens coming back again.

Hermione was silent for a long time after Dahlia was done. She could tell that her old friend was thinking hard — very hard. Her entire understanding of the universe and the world she lived on had been turned upside down, and it would take her a little bit to adjust.

Finally, she said, "OK, I believe you. If that story were coming from anyone else, I might not, but I believe you. Only you could get involved in something like this — and entirely by accident, too."

Dahlia smiled at that.

"So now what?" Hermione went on. "You said that you can make it possible for me to change the world and make it a better place, but somehow I don't think you meant anything obvious like reverse-engineering alien technology to sell on the market. Or at least, not _just_ that."

She turned to face Dahlia and looked her square in the eye. "What else is there? What have you got up your sleeve?"

Dahlia turned away to gaze out the cockpit windows. "Look down there. Look at how fragile our planet is. When you're on the surface, it seems so secure and stable, but up here you see the truth." She looked up from the planet and out into space. "Up here, you see how vulnerable we are. Worse yet, a lot of it is our own fault."

"What do you mean?"

Dahlia dismissed the world beneath them with a sweep of her hand. "Witches and wizards are powerful, but they can be more narrow-minded and xenophobic than even the worst of the muggles. Almost every community is divided over blood and heritage, sometimes violently so. Wizarding communities have set themselves above other magical beings rather than make common cause with them. And the muggles are scarcely any better — they constantly go to war over land, water, religion, or ancient disputes that no one in their right mind should care about anymore. _This_ makes us vulnerable."

She stabbed a finger towards the vast expanse of outer space. "There are System Lords out there who command armies numbering in the millions and who can draw on the resources of dozens of planets — planets filled with human slaves, by the way. If they knew about us, they'd sweep in like locusts, enslaving the entire population and strip-mining the planet until it was little more than a barren wasteland. They've been doing it for thousands of years now and have gotten very, very good at it."

Dahlia paused for a moment and tried to regulate her breathing. She was passionate about this, but she didn't want to scare Hermione off by being too over-the-top. This would not be a good time to lose control. "It's only a matter of time, too," she continued once she was a little calmer. "It's not a question of _if_ they will find us, but _when_. It might be tomorrow. It might be next year. But it _will_ happen. If we want to survive as a free and independent species, never mind rescue everyone who has already been enslaved, we _have_ to be prepared."

"So what do you intend to do?" Hermione asked, and Dahlia could hear in her voice that she'd managed to drive her point home.

"I want to save them. Us."

"Obviously, but how?"

Dahlia sighed and ran her hand through her hair. This was the critical point. This was where everything would come together or fall apart. Directing her gaze toward the serene blue planet, all too aware of how helpless it was, she said quietly, "I intend to take over."

As the moment dragged on without a response, Dahlia turned to look at her best friend, only to find her staring back as if she were insane. And perhaps she was. After all, she did have thousands of years of memories from a megalomaniacal, insane parasite. That changes a person. It had certainly changed her.

But that didn't mean that she was wrong, or that her solution wasn't the best one.

"Explain," Hermione finally demanded with a look of grim determination. She didn't rant, she didn't complain, and she certainly didn't storm off. Instead, she insisted on learning more, giving her one-time best friend the benefit of the doubt, just like she used to.

"Not literally and directly," Dahlia said quickly. "I have no interest in being personally in charge of any government. I have bigger concerns, as you well know." Hermione nodded slowly and looked slightly mollified. "But things have to change. Dramatically. Aside from all the ways in which wizarding Britain is broken, there's no way we'd stand a chance against a single System Lord backed by multiple planets worth of resources when all of magical society is as divided as it currently is."

"So you want to unify magical Britain, just not under your personal rule?"

"More or less," Dahlia replied, avoiding the unasked question of whether she wanted to go beyond Britain. She did, but she didn't want to argue over that right now. "I mean, I'm not looking to force goblins, centaurs, merpeople, witches, and wizards to all be under the same government, but they can't be at each other's throats, either. I don't care who's Minister or Chief Warlock, just so long as I can work with them when war comes. They need to be the sort who are willing to work for the long-term betterment of all magicals, not just purebloods, wealthy 'donors,' or the like."

"And how exactly do you intend to fight these aliens, even with a peaceful, progressive government behind you?"

Dahlia smiled. "That depends on you, Hermione. I have plans, but I'm not sure that I can accomplish them alone."

"Why not? What would you need me for? With all your knowledge, I'm not sure why you'd need anyone else."

"Knowledge, not cleverness," Dahlia said, and Hermione smiled at the reference. "A list of facts does not make one wise. Or even just smart. I know lots of facts, but figuring out how to use those facts has been slow going. I've been at this for a year now, and I've barely scratched the surface of what needs to be done. Besides, your knowledge of and research into runes could make a huge difference. Goa'uld technology hasn't changed in millennia. Millennia! Not because it's so great, but because they're scavengers. They almost never innovate, and when they do, it's only because they absolutely have to. Even if you weren't able to do anything more than lighten and strengthen key pieces of tech with your runes, you'd significantly alter the balance of power."

"Is that what you want from me, then? Runes?"

"What I want is a friend... or rather, I want my friend back," Dahlia said, reaching out and taking Hermione's hand. "I need a friend and a partner. When I started on this, I expected to be alone, but the more I work, the less confident I am that I'll succeed if I remain alone. And after spending a single evening with you again, I'm not sure I even _want_ to do it alone."

Hermione looked away and stared out the cockpit window again, lost in thought. Finally she said, "I'll need to think about it. This... this is too big for me to decide on right away. And I'm going to need details — something more than just a declared intention to take over."

"That's fine, I understand," Dahlia replied. "I'll take you home." Hermione started to stand, but Dahlia held up her hand and smiled. "No, we'll go direct." It only took a moment to bring the engines to full power, and then they were diving down towards the planet.

"Wait, won't they see us?" Hermione asked after a few minutes.

"No, we're cloaked."

"Holy cricket!" she exclaimed, seeing how quickly they were approaching Scotland and then Hogsmeade.

They landed in an empty field a few minutes' walk outside of the magical village, and Dahlia assured her that she'd stick around for a few days to give Hermione a chance to think things over. The other witch promised to tell her one way or the other, then she gave Dahlia a warm, rib-cracking hug before setting off into the night.

Dahlia stood there for several minutes, rubbing absently at her sore sides and remembering a time when she enjoyed such contact on a near-daily basis. She was in a melancholy but hopeful mood when she returned to the _Phoenix_ and took off again.


	13. Wonder Witches! (HP-Wonder Woman Xover)

**Wonder Witches!**

 **Summary:** Desperate for a way to help her friend survive all of the dangerous situations she keeps facing, Hermione convinces Diantha Potter to take part in a ritual that will turn her into an avatar of a powerful being, giving her abilities that will let her fulfill her goals. The model she uses is Wonder Woman, but the ritual doesn't go quite right, leading to unexpected consequences.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Wonder Woman

 **Pairing:** Diantha Potter/Hermione Granger

 **A/N:** Another Wonder Woman crossover! Well, not quite a crossover, I guess, since in this fic Wonder Woman is a fictional story that leads to the acquisition of new powers. Still, there aren't enough crossovers with Wonder Woman, right? There's a lot of potential here, I think, but it would be too easy for it to turn out too similar to my Jasmine Potter series. Regardless, it's still interesting, and it was worth writing a first chapter. I read a fic a while ago that used this "avatar ritual" premise, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it was.

 **A/N 2:** As it turns out, the inspiration for this was probably "Power of Belief" by Zero-Metallix, which you can find in their "Harry Potter: One-Shots and Ideas" fic.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Wonder Woman, DC does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Wonder Woman Powers, Activate!**

 **Hogwarts. June, 1995.**

"Psst, Di!"

"Psst, Di! Are you awake?"

Diantha Potter blinked carefully and fought to stifle a groan of pain as she tried to focus on the voice.

"Di?"

She looked around and frowned when she didn't see anything. Suddenly Hermione's face appeared, floating in mid-air next to her bed in the hospital wing.

"Hermione?" Di asked groggily. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Di, I've been so worried about you!" Hermione whispered. It was obvious to Di that the other witch desperately wanted to reach out and pull her into one of her patented hugs, but she'd been warned by a very stern Poppy Pomfrey that touch could be painful for victims of the Cruciatus Curse until their damaged nerve endings healed.

"What time is it?" Di asked. "Is it morning already? It's so dark..."

"No, it's the middle of the night," Hermione said as she shifted closer, some of her neck now appearing as the invisibility cloak fell open with the movement. With her head right at the level of the bed, Di figured that she was probably kneeling on the floor next to her.

"Then why...?" Di asked, still sore and tired from her ordeal in the graveyard two nights earlier.

"I have something I want to talk to you about," Hermione said. "Something that I couldn't do when others were around."

Di grimaced as she gingerly rolled onto her side, facing Hermione. As much as she wanted to sleep, she knew Hermione wouldn't have woken her without a good reason. Rather than begin explaining, though, Hermione started biting her bottom lip, something she always did when nervous or deep in thought. Di suspected that both were true this time and waited patiently for her friend to continue.

After a long moment, Hermione pulled a large, battered-looking book out from Di's invisibility cloak and set it on the edge of the bed. Diantha propped herself up on one elbow so she could open it and was surprised to see two different kinds of writing, neither of which she recognized.

"What is this?" she asked. "Are these some kind of runes?"

"This is a book on rituals," Hermione explained. "The text on the left is the original, ancient Sanskrit and on the right is modern Hindi."

"You can read this?" Di asked, surprised because she'd never seen Hermione reading texts in either language.

"Nope, not a bit of it," Hermione admitted. "I got this book from Padma — she pulled me aside after breakfast this morning and gave it to me, saying that she'd written to one of her aunts to send her a copy. Unfortunately, the aunt lives in India, so it's taken awhile to get here."

"Padma?" Di said. "Why? She's never said anything that would even suggest she believed or supported me. Then again... to be honest, I can't remember her saying anything against me, either. I don't even think she wore one of those buttons."

Hermione shook her head. "She didn't, just like her sister and Lavender didn't. Padma told me that there are quite a few witches in Hogwarts who are unhappy with how you've been treated this year — and for the last three years, too — but they haven't felt that they could speak up and do anything about it. Until now, none of them have had a way to help. Oh, I wish we'd had this book before that third task! I'm sure it would have made a huge difference!"

"Help? How?" Di asked as she flipped through a couple of pages. "I don't know how much help this will be when we can't understand anything in it."

"That's why Padma included a translation of the most important ritual," Hermione said, pulling the book away from Diantha and turning to near the end, where there were a few pieces of loose parchment with English written on them. "That's what I was doing all day today. I wanted to double-check some of the translations, just to be sure that what Padma provided is accurate."

"So why don't you tell me what it's all about?" Di said as she lay back down, preparing herself for what she expected would be a long lecture.

"Well, it's a complicated ritual that will transform a regular person, even a muggle, into an avatar of a hero or higher being."

"Avatar?" Di asked. "That sounds familiar, but..."

"It's a representative or manifestation of a powerful being, usually a god or goddess," Hermione explained. "But instead of simply speaking for them, an avatar is also imbued with the powers of the god or goddess. That's why they're often referred to as manifestations rather than simply representatives."

"So if I became an avatar of, say, the Norse god Thor," Di said, her eyes brightening with interest, "then I'd be able to... wield lightning or something? That would have been useful last night. Yeah... I could have put that to good use."

"Exactly," Hermione answered. "And it's not limited to gods and goddesses, though that's how it seems to have been used most often in ancient India. You could become an avatar of a more human hero, too, or of anything powerful."

"Like a dragon?" Di suggested.

"It might work, but you'd be stuck as that avatar permanently. And who knows what sorts of changes it would make to you?"

"Ew, scales," Di said, wrinkling her nose. "And I can only do it once? It's permanent?"

"I'm afraid so — it's one of the drawbacks of the ritual," Hermione admitted. "And you can't be an avatar of a person or being who already has an avatar somewhere. So there can only be one avatar of Thor, Zeus, Krishna, etc., at any one time."

The thought brought Diantha up short, and she looked suspiciously at her friend. "I assume there are more drawbacks to this ritual — let's hear them."

"Well, it takes a lot of magic, obviously," Hermione answered as she looked over her notes. "Such a transformation isn't easy. But Hogwarts has a lot of magic in it, so if we do it before we go home, I'm hopeful that that particular cost won't be too much of a problem for us. There is always a chance that it won't work, of course, and if it doesn't work, there is a risk of those involved losing something — becoming weaker, for example. It seems that if the petitioner's desire and need to become an avatar is deemed to be too trivial, then a penalty is exacted."

Di considered that. "Well, with Voldemort back, I'm pretty sure that stopping him from not only killing me, but taking over all of Wizarding Britain is hardly 'trivial.'"

"I know, and that's why I think it will work for you. I'll need to find a room..." Hermione started to say, but Di held up a hand to stop her.

"First, we need to decide who or what I should become an avatar of."

"Oh... well, uh, do you trust me?" Hermione asked, now looking anything but trustworthy.

Di narrowed her eyes. "Of course I trust you, but when you ask me something like that, I suddenly start wondering if I should."

"I've got an idea — a great idea, in fact," Hermione replied, her voice brimming with hushed excitement. "But before I tell it to you, I want to double-check everything to make sure that it will work."

"That's fine," Di said with a sigh, "but the train leaves for London next Saturday. Do we have time?"

"Yes, we should," Hermione said. "If I can find the right sort of room, we can do it this weekend. Madam Pomfrey said she'd probably let you out on Saturday, so we'll do it Saturday night. That will give us a few days to make sure you're alright and to test how much power you received."

"And you're not going to tell me beforehand what your idea is?" Di asked, but Hermione shook her head. "Alright, I'll play along," Di said resignedly, finding Hermione's bright, twinkling eyes to be incredibly suspicious, but too tired to argue just then.

"You focus on getting better," Hermione whispered as she covered herself back up with the cloak, "I'll handle everything else."

As she exited the hospital wing, she added, even more quietly to herself, "I'll take care of you, Di, I promise. Whatever it takes, I won't let anything more happen to you."

* * *

"Hermione?" Diantha called uncertainly as she poked her head around the door that had mysteriously appeared in the seventh-floor corridor. Hermione had called it the Room of Requirement — she said Dobby had told her about it when she encountered him after leaving the hospital wing the other night, and she seemed confident that it would be perfect for their needs.

As expected, Hermione was already there and had drawn on the stone floor most of what would be needed for the ritual. There were three smaller circles contained by one larger circle, with symbols and runes written everywhere. Di was sure that even if she could read the Sanskrit, she'd never be able to make out or understand what she was looking at.

Di sat down against one of the walls and waited, partly because she didn't want to interrupt Hermione while she was working — she'd learned her lesson on that long ago — and partly because she still didn't feel very good. The aftereffects of the torture she'd endured at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters continued to plague her. She was sore all over, her arm burned where Wormtail had cut her with the cursed knife, parts of her body continued to twitch occasionally, and every time she closed her eyes she thought about... what had happened.

"So, are you finally going to tell me what you think I should become an avatar of?" Di asked once Hermione was finished and came over. "Is it a god or goddess? Or maybe a hero, like King Arthur?"

"No, nothing like that," Hermione said, clearly nervous. She sat next to Diantha and reached into her bottomless bookbag to pull out a large, hardbound book with colorful drawings on the front. "I think you should become the avatar of her: Wonder Woman. This is _Wonder Woman: A History_ — I got it this past Christmas. It's all about her, how she's changed over the years, and the companions who fight alongside her, as well as summaries of some of the more famous issues and storylines."

Di frowned, and Hermione quickly added, "Don't tell me you've never heard of Wonder Woman!"

"No, I have," Di replied, "but... I don't remember much about her. Was she popular? I think she was — I seem to remember a show on the telly, but Vernon never let Dudley watch it for some reason. All I seem to remember is a rope and some bracelets. That doesn't strike me as impressive. What about a cooler superhero, like Superman? Or the Hulk? No, wait, he's green, too Slytherin. Still, 'Diantha Smash Puny Dark Lord! Grrr!' would be wicked. Can you imagine Voldemort's face? Maybe—"

Hermione interrupted with a huff of annoyance and started flipping through the book. "I'll have you know that Wonder Woman is one of the most powerful superheroes created by this publisher. She's at least as powerful as Superman, if not more so."

"Yeah?" Di asked, sounding skeptical.

"Absolutely," Hermione insisted. "Her powers are all blessings from various Olympian gods and goddesses, giving her a wide variety of skills. That's much better than becoming the avatar of just one deity." She found the page she was looking for and began to read: "'From Demeter, she has the gifts of super strength and fast healing, especially when in contact with the earth. From Athena, she has wisdom, leadership skills, and military prowess. From Artemis, she has enhanced senses, especially her eyesight and hearing, as well as an ability to communicate with all animals.'"

"No more glasses?" Di asked.

Hermione smiled knowingly before returning to her recitation. "'From Hermes, she received both super speed and the ability to fly. From Aphrodite, she received great beauty and kindness. And finally, from Hestia, she received a limited ability to control fire as well as resistance to fire.'"

"Now that might have helped during the first task," Di said, leaning forward to better see what Hermione was looking at.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "There are also some more general powers she has due to her being a child of the gods. She's resistant to being cut, resistant to blunt-force trauma, and even resistant to magic — something that Superman is vulnerable to, by the way."

"Even more useful," Di admitted.

"And on top of all that, she isn't a hero who always resorts to violence or brute force to solve problems," Hermione continued. "She's primarily an ambassador of peace, love, and justice from the Amazons. She would prefer to make friends rather than battle enemies, though she doesn't hesitate to leap into a fight to protect the innocent."

"So... no smashing?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Only as a last resort!"

"Alright, alright, you've convinced me — Wonder Woman is way cooler than Superman."

"And let's not forget the reason why I was given information on this ritual," Hermione added. "There are witches in the castle who are unhappy with how you, as a witch, have been treated. They want you to not only do well for your own sake, but for the sake of all witches. Becoming the avatar of a male superhero would conflict with one of the purposes of what we're doing, and that could reduce any benefit you receive. Becoming the avatar of a female superhero, on the other hand, might lead to an even better result."

"You really are a fangirl, aren't you?" Di said with a grin — the first real smile she'd shown since the third task.

"It's not like that," Hermione insisted, shooting her best friend a glare. "I just... I just appreciate strong female role models. I look up to strong women."

"Is that why you just happened to have this already?" Di asked as she pulled the book out of Hermione's hands and started paging through it.

"My father collected comics when he was young," Hermione said a bit defensively. "I read some when I was little, but always gravitated to the comics which featured female superheroes, especially Wonder Woman. I guess... I guess I kind of fixated on her at some point, because I still like reading about her, even though I couldn't care less about any other comics."

Pausing at some illustrations, Diantha gave a low whistle and said, "I don't know about strong female role models, but she does look good in that outfit... what little of it there is, at any rate."

"Yeah, there's that, too," Di heard Hermione murmur under her breath. A quick look out of the corner of her eye confirmed that her friend was blushing when she said it, which caused Di to wonder what that might mean.

"Well, as good of a choice as she seems to be, I think there's one small flaw in your plan," Di said as she closed the book and handed it back.

"What?" Hermione asked, frowning at the suggestion that she could have missed anything.

"Simple," Di said. "Wonder Woman is fictional. How can I possibly become the avatar of someone who doesn't exist? Who is just the figment of someone's imagination?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "That's a fair question, but honestly, do you think any of the Hindu gods and goddesses truly exist? Are you sure that King Arthur existed?" Di opened her mouth to say something, then abruptly closed it again as she thought about that. "Using a real person or being as the role model might help, but nothing in the instructions for the ritual says that it's _necessary_ ," Hermione continued. "So long as the role model is widely known and understood, that seems to be enough. As usual, magic is more about will and intent than anything else."

Di nodded slowly. "Perhaps it's like transfiguration, then? If I have an idea of what I want fixed firmly in my mind, then magic will make it happen?"

Hermione considered the idea, then looked over her notes again before saying, "Actually, the description of the ritual doesn't say anything like that. It focuses mostly on the community's belief in whatever being is used as the role model — that's because the person becoming the avatar is usually doing so in order to serve as a hero or savior for that community. But thinking about what you want to be as well as what you want to achieve probably can't hurt."

"And what exactly is the community in our case?" Di asked.

"Well, hopefully the people who are fans of Wonder Woman will count for something, since they know and understand her. Mostly, though, I suppose it's the witches in Hogwarts who have been cheering for you behind the scenes, but who haven't been brave or confident enough to come forward to support you publicly. Their desire for you to survive the dangerous situations you're thrust into, to defeat Voldemort, and to show the world what a witch can do will probably play a big role in your ability to be the avatar of a heroine like Wonder Woman."

They both fell silent for a long while as they pondered the implications of that. Finally Di asked, "So how do we do this?"

"Well, I just need to double-check my work," Hermione answered as she stood up. "The book about Wonder Woman goes in the white circle. It serves as an icon of the role model. I'll stand in the red circle to chant the incantation and direct the magic. You'll stand in the blue circle and focus your thoughts."

"Are you sure you want to do this now?"

"Absolutely," Hermione said as she walked around the outer circle, checking her runes. "This will tire out both of us. Doing it now will let us fall asleep here, if we need to. No one will seriously miss us until Monday morning, giving us all day Sunday to recover."

After taking off her outer robe so she'd be more comfortable, Di put the Wonder Woman book in the white circle, then went over to the blue circle to stand and wait. It took a little bit, but eventually Hermione was satisfied with her work and put away the large ritual book which Padma had lent her. Carrying a piece of parchment with the long incantation written on it, she stepped into the red circle. When Di indicated that she was ready, Hermione began to move her wand and recite the incantation.

Although she sincerely tried, Di found it difficult to focus exclusively on either the nature of Wonder Woman or on the reasons why she thought she needed to become an avatar of the Amazonian superhero. Instead, she kept finding herself returning to thoughts about Hermione — especially Hermione's blush at the mention of Wonder Woman's revealing outfit.

 _No, focus!_ she commanded herself. _I don't usually have trouble focusing on her end product in Transfiguration, so what's my problem now? Did the Cruciatus Curse affect my mind and ability to think? Did Madam Pomfrey miss something?_

A moment later, she found herself distracted again as her mind seemed to roam of its own accord over a host of little things that Hermione had said or done over the previous three years — things that Di hadn't paid much attention to before, but which now seemed to be a whole lot more meaningful. There were the long, lingering looks that Hermione had occasionally given her when she thought Di wasn't watching. There was how close Hermione tended to sit next to her, often close enough to touch, even if only just barely. There was how tightly Hermione had held her when the two of them rode Buckbeak at the end of the previous school term.

Di shut her eyes and squeezed her fists so tightly that her fingernails started digging painfully into her palms. _What is the_ _ **matter**_ _with me?_ she wondered. _Why can't I focus on what's important? Rituals are dangerous enough under the best of circumstances, and I can't afford any mistakes here!_

When she opened her eyes again, her vision was once more filled with the sight of Hermione, her best friend. The one person who always stood by her side, no matter what. Hermione was still saying the incantation, but she wasn't reading it off the parchment anymore; instead she was reciting it from memory while looking directly at Di. And as Di looked back into Hermione's bright, brown eyes, everything about her emotions and life seemed to coalesce.

 _Merlin!_ Di thought as the magic rose in intensity and swirled around them. _Hermione fancies me! I mean, she fancies girls and she even fancies me!_

 _And... and I fancy her!_

Diantha Potter was not much for planning — that was what Hermione did. Everyone who knew the two of them knew that. Diantha was much more the sort to jump into something just because it seemed like the right thing to do. Sometimes that turned out for the best, like when she flung herself on the back of a mountain troll and stuck her wand up its nose. Other times it didn't work out quite so well, like when she and Ron decided to take Arthur Weasley's flying car from London to Hogwarts.

The two witches would forever debate which category Di's next actions should be classified into.

As she looked at her best friend while the magic of the ritual moved around and through her, Di was struck by how important Hermione was in her life. She was amazed at the lengths to which Hermione regularly went in order to help her. And at that moment, with magic dancing in the air around them, she didn't think she'd ever seen anyone as beautiful as her bushy-haired, bookworm friend.

Hermione whipped her wand downward in a slashing motion, completing the ritual incantation, and instead of standing still as she was supposed to, Di reached out, grabbed Hermione by her robe, yanked her into the blue circle, and gave the shocked witch such a passionate kiss that Hermione immediately went weak in the knees.

Then everything went black for the both of them.

* * *

Diantha came to consciousness very slowly. She ached all over, just like before, but there was a different quality to it. The pain was no longer that of the Cruciatus Curse, but rather from something else. There seemed to be an odd buzzing in the back of her mind, and she realized that she was lying on hard, cold stone.

 _Well, that might explain why I'm sore_ , she concluded as she lifted a hand to rub her eyes and tried to remember what had happened last. _Wasn't I doing that ritual with Hermione?_ she wondered. _Yeah, that's it, a ritual. She was chanting, and then... uh... I..._

" **Diantha. Cassiopeia. POTTER!** "

 _Oh, shite!_

"What in Merlin's name were you thinking? No, don't answer that — you weren't thinking at all, were you?"

Di opened her eyes to a blurry world. She blinked hard several times, but the blur didn't lift. After a moment, she removed her glasses to check for smudges and the world around her jumped to sharp, crystal clarity. She'd never been able to see so well, not even when her glasses were new, though the grin this produced quickly faded when she noticed Hermione sitting next to her, her hands clutching at her hair in her agitation and looking more furious than Di had ever seen.

Di opened her mouth to respond and was as surprised as anyone at what came out. "Actually, I was thinking how beautiful you looked, and that I desperately wanted to kiss you until your toes curled and you forgot your own name."

"You—!" Hermione began angrily, then stopped short and gaped in shock at her best friend. "You thought what?" she asked in a much softer tone.

Di was in a bit of shock at her own words as well, but seeing that they'd stopped Hermione from yelling, she was more than happy to keep going. "I said I wanted to kiss you senseless," Di answered. "And you seemed to enjoy it, too. Or was I mistaken?"

Hermione's cheeks quickly went bright red in a blush that Di was sure extended pretty far down. After several failed attempts to formulate a reply, she finally got out, "No, you're not wrong. It... but... you..." She then huffed in exasperation as she dropped her hands into her lap. "That's not the point. Honestly, do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Do you know what can happen when you interfere with the intricate steps of a magical ritual? Why couldn't you have done that before we started? Or after?"

Di sat up and ran a hand through her hair, then shrugged. "I don't know. I was thinking about the things you told me to focus on, and I tried, really I did, but I kept coming back to thoughts of you. I don't understand why — I've never had so much trouble focusing on something like that before." She stopped and took a deep breath before saying, "I hope my mind wasn't damaged by the torture. Regardless, in the end the desire to kiss you simply overwhelmed me. It seemed like the most important thing in the world that I could do — more important than the ritual, in fact. I've never wanted anything more than I wanted that, right then. So I reached out and pulled you into a kiss."

Hermione put her head in her hands and slowly shook it. "What _is_ it with Gryffindors?" she groaned. Finally, she looked at Diantha again and said, "Well, what's done is done. We'll have to talk about... **that** , and sooner rather than later. Right now, though, we need to figure out what the consequences of your rash decision were. Hopefully nothing too horrible happened."

"I don't feel bad," Di observed. "Well, not _too_ bad. The aches and pains from the torture seem to be gone. I'm still sore, but I think that's because I fell asleep on a cold stone floor."

Hermione twisted and stretched her own limbs before agreeing. "I feel the same, so that probably explains the stiffness and soreness."

"Otherwise, I feel good," Di continued. "Rested. Strong, even."

Hermione nodded and slowly stood up, then she reached down to help Diantha stand as well. "Were your clothes always that small on you?" the bushy-haired witch asked as she looked down at her friend's feet.

Di looked down as well and saw that the cuffs of her trousers were riding above her ankles. Then she reached out and pulled up Hermione's robe a little, revealing that her own trousers were too short as well. "No more than yours were."

Hermione squeaked in surprise before yanking off her robe, and the two witches quickly found that all of their clothing was a bit too small.

"That explains why my shoulders and chest feel uncomfortable," Di muttered. "I thought it was a part of being sore from where we slept, but I think my bra straps are much too small now!" She then frowned and shifted her hips back and forth. "Among other things," she added with a grimace.

"I wonder if the soreness is from us hitting a sudden and rapid growth spurt," Hermione mused as she pulled out her wand and started casting quick enlargement charms on each piece of clothing. "It would make sense if becoming the avatar of Wonder Woman would make someone stronger and fitter."

"We'll need to buy all new clothing now," Di said with a growl. "That's going to cause problems at the Dursleys, I know it."

"Not right away," Hermione cautioned. "If we're still growing, we don't know how long it will be until we're done."

"How long will your charms last?"

"Last week I would have said that they would have lasted for a couple of days, but I feel a bit stronger magically," Hermione said. "Those charms felt incredibly easy to cast — much easier than anything else I've ever done. I have no idea how long they'll last now. We'll simply have to pay close attention."

"So we were both affected by the ritual," Di observed. "Does that mean we both became avatars of Wonder Woman? Or maybe we each got half?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think it would work like that, though the ritual wasn't designed to work for two people at once, so we're in uncharted territory. Regardless, remember that I said the ritual only allows for one avatar of a being at any given time. That's another reason why I thought a comic superhero would be good — I doubted that anyone else in the world would have already done this with her."

"And that means that we can't both be Wonder Woman," Di concluded. "But then what could have happened to you?"

"Well, there are other female superheroes who have worked closely with Wonder Woman," Hermione said slowly, biting her bottom lip as she thought furiously about the different recurring characters in the Wonder Woman comics. "There's an entire chapter of the book dedicated to them, and I suppose the ritual could have drawn from one of them. Donna Troy and Black Canary are two of the most popular, but they aren't the only ones. They are all slightly different, so I should be able to figure out which, if any of them, I might be an avatar of."

"You did say that we'd need to test me to see how much I've changed, so we'll do the same with you as well," Di replied, and Hermione nodded.

"Let's try speed," Hermione suggested, and they faced each other across the room, prepared to cast stinging hexes at each other. "You first," Hermione said, and she started casting. To the surprise of both of them, Diantha easily moved out of the way, even when they closed the distance between them to a mere six feet. The more she did it, the faster she moved, to the point where Hermione had trouble following her.

"That would have been really, really handy the other night," Di said when they were done. "With that kind of speed, I might have been able to save Cedric."

"It's not your fault," Hermione replied, taking a couple of steps forward and putting a hand on Di's shoulder. "It's V...Voldemort's fault. He caused Cedric's death, not you."

"I know what you're saying, but it's hard to believe it," Di said. She took a deep breath. "Now it's your turn to be tested." They took up positions and began again, this time with Di firing. Hermione seemed to be a bit slower, because by the time they closed to six feet, Di was able to connect with a couple of spells.

"Ow," Hermione muttered as she rubbed her hip where the final one had struck.

"You're still fast," Di said. "I doubt that anyone else could have hit you. I think I only managed because I'm moving so much faster myself. In fact, I think I moved faster the more I did it, like when you were casting at me."

Hermione considered that. "I think you may be right. Maybe we need to practice with these powers before we can use them fully? Maybe our bodies need time to get used to channeling our new abilities." She eyed her friend. "What should we try next?"

"I'm not sure how to test being able to fly, and I'm not at all keen on testing my resistance to fire or being cut right now," Di said with a slight shudder. "How about we test our strength?"

"Good idea," Hermione said, and after a moment a set of increasingly large stones appeared. "I guess the Room can't recreate modern muggle weights," she said.

Di shrugged. "These will do. I know that I wouldn't have been able to lift most of these a few days ago, so this won't take long." The largest and heaviest stones were beyond the ability of either of them to pick up alone, but the rest proved to be surprisingly easy.

"Wow," Hermione said. "It's hard to believe that we're able to lift so much."

"Is this what you expected?" Di asked, glowing with pleasure as she looked at the tall pile of stones she had moved.

"Well, we've only tested a couple of things, but everything so far is definitely pointing to Amazons. For both of us. And you're a lot more confident than you used to be, which would be consistent with Wonder Woman."

Di's brow furrowed. "You're right — I think I am. That's a good thing, right?"

"Absolutely! I've always wished you could be more confident — that you could see in yourself the things others see in you." Then she added softly, "That I've always seen in you."

Di's cheeks went a bit pink. During the ritual, she had felt with absolute certainty that she was right about Hermione's feelings for her; yet now that the intensity of the moment was gone, the doubts had started to creep in. Could she really have failed to notice something so significant for so long? What if she had merely been caught up in the magic and was reading too much into things? What if she still was?

"So, um, what now?" she asked awkwardly, trying to change the subject.

Apparently oblivious to Di's discomfort, Hermione considered. "We still need to figure out who my powers are coming from. I have a few ideas... well, one thing in particular." A moment later, a bow and quiver of arrows appeared next to them while a target appeared on the other side of the room.

Hermione slung the quiver over her back, picked up the bow, and began firing away, sending out arrows almost faster than Di could follow and striking the center of the target every time.

"Wow!" Di exclaimed. "I take it you couldn't do that before?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I've never picked up a bow before. I doubt I would have even been able to hit the target yesterday."

"It seems like something that all Amazons would be good at," Di said as she took the bow and tried to replicate what Hermione had just accomplished, but she didn't do nearly as well. She stood and looked at her poor results for a moment before saying, "Or, maybe not."

"You'd think the skill would be shared widely, but it isn't," Hermione said. "The main figure associated with Wonder Woman who excels with the bow and arrow is a new character named Artemis. She's another Amazonian warrior, though from a different tribe."

"What else can she do?" Di asked.

"Most of the same things that Wonder Woman can do," Hermione said. "The biggest differences are her skills with the bow and with sorcery. I already said that my magic feels stronger, so I'm going to have to pay close attention to that to see if it continues to get even better."

"So, two Avatars, then?" Di asked, and Hermione glared at her.

"I'm still not sure if I'm happy about what you did," Hermione said. "Just because everything seems OK right now doesn't mean that it'll stay that way!"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," Di said, holding up her hands placatingly and trying to sound contrite. "I didn't mean to cause any problems. I just... thought it was the right thing to do. I still don't know why, but I did."

Hermione rolled her eyes and started picking up their clothing. "Get dressed — it's getting late, and we missed Sunday's breakfast and lunch already. We'll continue testing after dinner."

Neither witch noticed the appearance of several ghostly female figures as they left.

"Are you still certain that it was such a good idea to grant their request?" the one with a bow and arrow slung over her shoulder asked.

"Absolutely," the tallest said as she pulled an ancient-looking helmet off her head. "Clotho had already marked the one for several important tasks, and Lachesis was quite eager to extend both of their threads by a large amount. They were practically giggling when I left them to their work."

"All true, but that doesn't explain granting her so much power, never mind doing it to both," the first figure pressed.

"And why use such a vulgar mortal template?" asked the older, matronly figure.

"Because they believe in it, Demeter," the tall one responded. "Well, the one girl believes in it — not literally, but she believes in the importance and power of such a heroine. It has long inspired her imagination, and since her friend believes in her, she will be inspired as well. Neither of them, unfortunately, believes in us, so it would not have been possible for us to empower them directly. We needed an intermediary, however vulgar it may be. Working together, using the gifts we have bestowed upon them, they may inspire others, which will in turn cause a great many things to come to pass which we have long desired. Granted, it will take them time to grow into their new powers, but I think it will be worth it."

"And we needed to empower _both_ because in the end, it is their love for each other that will keep them going," the most beautiful and least clothed of the group interjected. "You saw how easy it was to distract the one, getting her to kiss the other and thus ensure that the ritual proceeded the way we wished."

The first figure snorted. "Ever the romantic. You need to learn that not everything revolves around sex and love."

The scantily clad figure looked her half-sister up and down disdainfully before saying, "And as ever, dear Artemis, you need to get laid."

Artemis' ghostly face turned pink in embarrassment as the others laughed before they all slowly faded away.


	14. Untitled HP-Aliens-Predator Crossover

**Untitled HP/Aliens/Predator Crossover**

 **Summary:** Auror Calla Potter is having doubts about her career, but before she can make any final decisions she's asked by the Minister to lead a team into Gringotts to save the goblins from a terrible danger they've unwittingly unleashed before it emerges and threatens everyone. Will she get there in time? Is there even anyone left to save?

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Aliens/Predator

 **Pairing:** None

 **A/N:** There are several fics that combine Harry Potter with the Aliens and/or Predator franchises, but I'm honestly not all that fond of any of them. This would be a short story, maybe four or five chapters, and I think it has some decent potential because there are opportunities for showing the main characters growing and changing quite a bit by the end.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Aliens or Predator, several major companies seem to.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Bug Hunt**

 **Ministry of Magic, London.**

"Are you sure you want to do this? A lot of people look up to you. They feel safer because they know you're here."

"Maybe that's part of the problem?"

The Minister raised one eyebrow, and Calla sighed.

"I don't want to become another Dumbledore," she tried to explain. "I'm tired of being the person everyone turns to when they have a problem."

"The responsibility? The pressure?"

Calla nodded. "From the time I entered Hogwarts, I've felt like... like everyone is watching me. Expecting me to take care of their problems. That, or waiting for me to fail. Since I was eleven years old, I haven't really had a break. It's been one life-or-death situation after another, every year, then straight into auror training after the war."

"I thought you wanted to be an auror?"

"Maybe I did, at one time," Calla said with a shrug, trying not to think about the fact that the idea had originally been given to her by an escaped Death Eater.

"Are you sure this isn't about that girl you rescued last week?" Calla refused to answer, so the Minister pressed on. "You know, she's alive because of you."

"Barely," Calla responded bitterly. "I should have gotten to her sooner. If I had, maybe she'd... maybe her brother wouldn't have..." She was still having nightmares about the scene when she and her team had finally broken through the wards. In the hospital, she'd scarcely been able to look at the parents, afraid of the accusations she expected to see written across their faces.

"You can't save everyone, you know."

"Everyone expects me to."

Shacklebolt shook his head sadly. "The only one who expects you to save everyone and solve everyone's problems is you, Calla."

She didn't respond to that. She knew he had a point, but he didn't hear the whispers behind her back or see the stares she was constantly subjected to. After a few long moments, she finally said, "I've just... I'm tired. I'm tired of chasing down mysterious, magical threats. I'm tired always being the one who has to solve horrible cases, seeing the worst things that witches and wizards can do to each other. I'm tired of waking up in St. Mungo's with another curse injury."

"Maybe a leave of absence..."

"What good would that do?"

"It would give you a break, at the very least," the Minister pressed. "You've been here five years now and have barely taken any of your allotted vacation. I know Ron and Hermione have repeatedly asked you to travel with them, but instead you take Ron's shifts."

Calla simply shrugged. He was right, but what was she going to do? There was no way she would intrude on her best friends' vacations like that.

"Don't you know that you do a lot of good? People look up to you here."

Calla glared at the Minister, angry that he'd try pulling that, but the glare had little effect on the man. He'd been a politician for too long.

"Why don't you take the rest of the week off, then come back in on Monday morning and we'll talk about an extended leave of absence," the Minister continued. "Maybe a month away from the Ministry will—"

"Minister! Minister!" The door to the Minister of Magic's office burst open, revealing a distraught Percy Weasley.

"Percy? What's the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry, Minister, but there's a goblin here, demanding to see you!" Percy exclaimed, somehow managing to look embarrassed and assertive all at once. "They... something's gone wrong with Gringotts!"

Both Calla and Shacklebolt frowned. Gringotts had kicked out their customers and locked their doors over two weeks ago, and since then everyone had been wondering what was going on. Wonder, however, had been gradually turning to panic as the days passed and people couldn't get to their gold. There were rumors running around of a coup, of a dragon having gotten loose, and even of a new goblin rebellion.

"Alright, better show him in. Maybe we'll finally get some answers." Kingsley turned to his visitor and said, "I'm sorry, Calla. I know this is important, but..."

"Of course," Calla Potter replied as she stood. "I don't need to do anything immediately, and I'll think about taking these next few days as vacation."

Just then the goblin entered the office, but he was unlike any goblin either of them had ever seen before. He was bruised, bloodied, his armor was damaged all over, and he looked like he was about to keel over. "Percy, call a Healer!" Shack ordered as Calla helped the goblin to a chair. One of the Healers waiting on standby in the Ministry quickly came and soon had the goblin both looking and feeling less wobbly.

"My name is Cwen, and I thank you," the goblin said in a high, piping voice. "It's been days since we've had the supplies for proper medical attention."

"When did you last eat?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Two days? Maybe three?"

"I'll have someone send an elf with food," the Healer said as she left.

"Perhaps I'd better get going, too," Calla said, and Shacklebolt nodded absently, focused entirely on what could be happening under Gringotts.

"We'll talk later, Calla," he said.

"Calla Potter?" the goblin asked suddenly, and Calla inclined her head. "Assuming it is permitted, I'd prefer if you stayed."

Calla looked to Shacklebolt, who nodded in agreement, so she retook her chair while he moved his own closer to the goblin. A soft pop announced the arrival of a house elf with a large tray of food and drinks, which the goblin eagerly dug into.

"Tell me, what brings you to the Ministry?" the Minister asked once their unexpected visitor had gotten down a few rushed mouthfuls.

"My people made a mistake, and we have paid a terrible price for it," the goblin said between bites. "I was sent to you by my father, the king, to ask for your help so that we don't end up paying the ultimate price: the extinction of the British goblins."

Calla and Shacklebolt looked at each other in alarm.

"Some weeks ago," the goblin went on, "there was a bright light in the night sky when a meteor fell to earth north of here. Perhaps you remember it? I was told that it was even in the muggle news. My people covet celestial iron far more than gold, both because of its rarity and because it can be used to craft weapons with unusually strong magic. We recovered the object and brought it deep under the bank, where our craftsmen were to begin extracting its metal content. They found much more than iron, though. They found, buried in the rock, a tiny craft that was apparently designed to travel in space."

"A spaceship?" Calla asked. "I thought they were fiction!"

Cwen nodded. "My father had us read up on what muggles have to say about such things so we could better understand what we were dealing with. Unfortunately, it didn't prepare us nearly well enough. Our downfall started when a couple of workers went missing. Then a few more. Search parties were sent out, but they, too, disappeared. A bit of blood was found here and there, but nothing more than that. Then the tunnels were discovered."

"Tunnels?" Shacklebolt asked. "Isn't it all tunnels down there?"

"Yes, but nothing like these. Our tunnels are hewn from the earth with magic and sweat. These new tunnels, however... perfectly round and perfectly smooth, unlike anything created by human or goblin hands. We sent search parties down them. Then we sent armed companies. Eventually, one survivor returned. The madness in his eyes was matched by the madness of his stories, so he wasn't believed. Perhaps if he had been, more of us would have survived later on. Then again, perhaps nothing could have saved us."

Pausing to drink thirstily from his cup, he went on, "I can certainly tell you more of what happened — being a resident in the royal halls made me privy to even the most classified information. But time is short, and I should get to the point. As best as we were able to determine, that tiny vessel had an egg in it. At least one, possibly more. The egg released a creature which latched onto the face of a goblin worker, laid another egg inside him, then fell off, dead. After incubating for a time, that egg hatched and a new creature burst forth from the worker's chest, killing him before it ran off."

Calla shivered as she imagined such a scene, and she could tell that Shacklebolt wasn't faring any better.

"In a few short days that new creature grew into a horrible beast, as intelligent as it was vicious. We don't know exactly how they reproduce beyond that, but reproduce they have. There must be at least a hundred by now, and every one of them is more than a match for a hundred of our warriors. They climb along walls and ceilings as easily as you or I walk along the floor. Their claws and teeth can tear through even the most magically-hardened armor. And their blood is the strongest acid we've ever heard of, so even wounding one causes injury or death to any warrior unlucky enough to be too close."

"What's the state of your army?" Shacklebolt asked.

"The same as the state of the goblin nation as a whole: a near total loss," came the answer, causing both the Minister and Calla to blanch. "The king sent us to seek your aid just before the last group of defenders sealed themselves up in the most secure rooms of the royal palace. If they still live, they are all that's left of my people."

"Us?" Calla asked.

"There were a dozen of us, me and my personal guard. Half fell before we made it to the final door to the bank lobby, and the rest stayed behind to ensure that it was tightly sealed behind me."

Shacklebolt nodded and stood, moving to his desk. Even if he weren't inclined to help the goblins stave off extinction, it was obvious that whatever was killing them would soon come for the people living on the surface, muggle and magical alike. "I'll organize some auror squads with weapons and supplies to relieve your people. While that's happening, I'll alert the muggle Prime Minister and coordinate with him to mount a counterattack to ensure that we can eliminate the threat. I'll need you to tell us everything you know while we're getting people and supplies together."

The goblin nodded and took the proffered quill and parchment.

"Calla?" he said next. "I hate to ask this of you, especially right now, but..."

"It's fine," she replied. "Vacation is overrated anyway. I'll call up Rapid Response Squad One and tell Ron to form up Squad Two. That's twenty-two of our best aurors. I'll also call St. Mungo's to put together some packs of food, potions, and medical supplies. Say, two hours until we can leave?" Shacklebolt nodded in approval.

"Miss Potter?" the goblin asked before the young woman could leave. "Although you have had your... difficulties with my people, many of us know of and respect your deeds. I am pleased that you will be there to help us."

"I'm glad to help."

"I pray that it will be enough."

Calla met the goblin's gaze... and had to suppress a shudder at the haunted eyes she found staring back.

* * *

 **Diagon Alley, London.**

"Does anyone else think this is a waste of time?" came a complaint from the back of the group as the two squads walked through Diagon Alley. Calla and Ron were up front in the silver-grey cloaks of squad leaders while their red-cloaked aurors were spread out behind. It was late, so there weren't too many shoppers about, but they were still drawing attention. It was unavoidable, and the rumors would be flying by morning.

"I'm just saying, what reason is there to think that we'll have any more luck than the entire goblin army?" It was Burke, of course, someone Ron had been dithering about kicking out from his squad.

Calla was wishing he hadn't dithered for so long.

"Because, Burke, our magic is different from theirs," Ron called back. "Goblin magic is more tactile. It's imbued in their tools and weapons. Ours is cast through our wands."

Calla caught his eye and smirked, and Ron gave a sheepish grin. They both knew that it was only because of Hermione that he had any idea of what he was talking about.

"This is one reason why goblins are so insistent on getting their weapons back from us," Calla added. "Us having goblin-made swords and knives is a bit like goblins collecting wands from dead witches and wizards."

"Very astute, Miss Potter, Mr. Weasley," added Cwen. "Few of your kind care about what our tools mean to us, but I'm pleased to see that you two understand."

"Anyway," Ron continued, "because of how their magic works, they usually have to fight up close, which as you learned in the briefing is a real problem with these creatures. We'll be in danger up close, too, but we have more options for fighting them at a distance. So remember to use long-range curses, transfiguration, and anything else to keep them at bay. And don't hesitate in your casting — these buggers move fast!"

Further conversation was put on hold as Cwen unlocked Gringotts' front door and they entered the deserted bank. Their guide had already explained that Gringotts had been locked down in siege mode, something normally used to prevent invaders from getting farther than the lobby, but which they had adapted in this case to prevent the creatures from getting out to the surface. This left them just one way in: the same route which Cwen had used to get out that morning.

"Secure the lobby," Calla commanded as soon as they were through the front doors.

"Burke, Creevy, left flank," Ron called out. "Snodgrass, Brown, take right."

Leapfrogging through the lobby in pairs, the two teams made their way to the tracks which were normally used to transport customers to their vaults. Just twenty yards into the gloom was the main door to the underground areas, and the sight brought them all up short. The door had bulges all over, as if it had been beaten from the other side, and there were places where it looked like the metal had partially melted and started running down the front.

"That is the heaviest, strongest vault door which Gringotts uses," Cwen said in a hoarse whisper.

"I guess it didn't look this bad this morning?" Calla asked, receiving a slow shake of the head in response.

 _Maybe I should have approached Shack about resigning last month?_ she thought, her stomach twisting a bit.

"Well, we need to get through," Ron said pragmatically, trying to put a good face on it. "Everyone take defensive positions, just in case there's something waiting for us on the other side." The squad members all spread out, pairing up and taking cover along the tunnel walls and behind overturned carts. It had been decided that they would operate in teams of two: one to cast offensive spells and one to focused on defense, primarily magical shields. It was hoped that the acid the creatures used for blood would be ineffective against such shields, though they unfortunately wouldn't know for sure until it was too late.

Once everyone was in place, Cwen activated the goblin magic on the door, causing it to slowly swing open. The awful sound of scraping, twisting metal rang through the air.

"Somehow, I don't think stealth is an issue anymore," Wallace muttered.

Suddenly one of the creatures dropped from the ceiling of the cavern and flung itself into the tunnel, making a break for the bank's lobby. A dozen different curses were cast at it, but it moved so fast that only two connected: a cutting curse which sliced off one leg, and a reductor curse which exploded its chest. Acidic blood sprayed everywhere, and five aurors discovered that a well-cast shield did indeed protect them.

"That wasn't so bad," Burke said. "It's ugly, but it dies like anything else."

"Watch where you step!" Miller called out. "You don't want to get that blood on your shoes! Banish it if you see any."

"Good news: our magic is effective against them," Ron announced as he stood over the body. "Offensive and defensive."

"Bad news: they move even faster than we thought," Calla added. "So we need to be faster yet. Much faster, otherwise we won't get a chance to fight them at a distance."

"Your shields will protect you against their physical attacks, will they not?" Cwen asked.

"They should," Calla answered. "They don't always work well against physical attacks that have a lot of kinetic energy, like bullets or a dragon dropping on you, but they should be effective against what you described."

"The problem is shielding in enough directions at the same time," Ron said. "One person can't cast a shield that provides 360 degree protection. You need several bunched up together for that."

Calla looked around. "We'd better get moving. If the screeching metal didn't alert more of them, the screeching creature surely did." She led them through the door and into the dark cavern beyond.

The first thing they all noticed were the bodies of goblin warriors.

"These were my guard," Cwen said softly, bending down to take the sword from one lifeless hand. "They've been with me all my life. I knew them, their mates, even their children." Calla felt a little uncomfortable watching the scene, feeling as though she were intruding on something private. At the same time, there was something about it that bothered her. She may not have always paid close attention in Binn's classes, but Cwen's behavior didn't strike her as particularly warrior-like.

Turning away, she addressed the wizard at her side. "Ron, I'm thinking that you and your team should stay behind."

"What? Are you crazy? You can't—"

"Look, we have two missions: relieve the goblins and prevent these creatures from breaking out to the surface. Right now, this is their fastest route out, and it leads them right into the heart of not only Wizarding Britain, but muggle London as well. If they get through here, it won't matter what we accomplish down there."

Ron stopped arguing and stared at his best friend, knowing that she was right and hating it. "I don't like you going down there without me," he finally said.

"I need you watching my back," Calla replied. "And you'll be doing that, right here. You'll be ensuring not only that these creatures can't get out, but that me and my team will have an escape route. It won't help to save the goblin king if we can't get back out again, right?"

Ron's eyes narrowed. "So how come I'm staying behind and you're moving on instead of the other way around? Why don't _you_ stay and watch _my_ back?"

"Because I'm senior to you, so I have tactical command," Calla said simply, earning a growl from her friend.

"I can't believe you're using that against me. One point! My final grade from the Academy was one bloody point lower than yours!"

"Yet it was enough, and if our situations were reversed, you'd be using it against me."

Ron heaved a sigh and slumped a little in defeat. Glancing over Calla's shoulder, he leaned in close to whisper, "Are you sure about that goblin? There's something odd about him."

Calla shot a look back as well and noted that their guide was still leaning over the same body that the sword had come from, whispering something with closed eyes. "Yeah, I know what you mean," she said as she turned back to Ron. "I've been getting funny vibes ever since we met in the Minister's office."

"Then why—"

"No, not that he's dangerous," Calla interrupted. "I'm certain that he doesn't mean us any harm. There's just something... _different_ about this goblin. I don't know goblins well enough to put my finger on what it is, though." Calla shrugged. "Maybe I'm simply picking up on the fact that he's embarrassed and ashamed at what the goblins did."

Ron nodded reluctantly, then turned to his team. "Alright, everyone, let's close the door and do what we can to seal it up. Jenkins, you and Ives stay in the lobby. The rest of us will stay on this side and construct defenses around the door." Turning back to Calla, he said, "Promise me you'll come back, yeah? You know what Hermione will do to me if you don't."

"I always come back," she tried to reassure him, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. They nodded at each other before separating for their different missions. By this point Cwen was also ready and began leading Calla's team deeper into the caverns under Gringotts.

 _Definitely should have talked to Shack last month_ , Calla thought as the heavy metal door screeched closed behind them.


	15. Running Free

**Running Free**

 **Summary:** Lillian Potter is tired and fed up, stuck with the Dursleys after the death of her godfather and learning about the prophecy. A suggestion in Sirius' last letter to her and an advert on TV spark an idea, an idea which becomes a plan when she learns that Hermione's parents are taking her away forever. Once Lillian and Hermione hit the open road, will anyone ever find them again?

 **Pairing:** Lillian/Hermione

 **A/N:** Unfortunately, I don't have a destination in mind for this story — ironic, I know, given the subject. As much as the main characters may enjoy meandering randomly, as the author I need a path and goal, and I don't have one. I have enjoyed several "Harry does a runner" stories, and this is my idea for starting one. I have yet to come up with an idea for _finishing_ one. If/when I do, I'll see if it and this beginning get along well enough to produce an interesting middle act that connects them.

This story, or at least this story idea, is heavily influenced by _Runaways_ by Ravengrad and _Escape_ by JackPotr.

Events in the Harry Potter universe are shifted forward ten years, so this story starts in the summer of 2006 instead of 1996. If I didn't do that, I wouldn't be able to give the characters inspiration via the documentary _Long Way Round_. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend both it and its sequel, _Long Way Down_.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own a motorcycle, either, though my late grandfather owned awesome BMW of the same vintage as Sirius' Norton, and I still have fond memories of the many hours I spent riding it with him.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - The Prisoner**

Lillian Potter sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, trying hard not to break down and cry as she read the will in front of her. Like most wills, it was pretty dry; but after the short list of instructions for dividing up his possessions — almost all of which went to her — she found a short, personal note:

 _Lillian,_

 _I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you as you grew up. I know that the money and properties won't make up for my stupid decision to chase after Peter, but it's all I've got now. Words cannot express how much I regret that decision, nor can they convey how important you are to me. I loved you like you were my own, right from the first time James let me hold you just hours after you were born, and I looked forward to having many years together with you. If you're reading this, though, something has happened to mess up those plans._

 _Well, time for new plans, then. I don't know everything that's happened to you over the years, but I know that you've had a lot of bad experiences, even at Hogwarts. I also know that you haven't had a chance to truly relax and get over any of those bad experiences. One of the things I wanted to do was take you away on vacation to help you decompress, but assuming I didn't get that chance, I urge you to go do it on your own. Get away, even if it's only for a couple of weeks, and have some fun. And remember, the Trace is specific to each country, so yours won't register outside Britain!_

 _Don't tell anyone, though, not even Dumbledore. Especially Dumbledore, in fact. There's something not quite right about the way he looks at you and treats you. He encouraged me to leave my estate to the Order rather than to you, and some of his decisions regarding your life bother me. So keep your eyes open around him, and take some time for yourself to have fun!_

Lillian closed her eyes and took a long, ragged breath before folding up the will and putting it into the bottomless backpack which the goblins had been instructed to give her along with the will. Inside were things which she now understood had been intended by Sirius to help her follow his instructions: an enchanted passport under the name Lilly Black, a driver's license under the same name, a special Gringotts money bag and muggle wallet that were connected directly to the Black vault, tourist guides to magical communities around the world, a large stack of parchment in his writing, and his old motorcycle, now with a built-in shrinking charm.

She thanked the goblins upon leaving the private room and pulled up the hood of her cloak as she exited the bank, her eyes darting back and forth for possible threats from both Death Eaters and Order members. She hadn't understood why Dumbledore had tried to forbid her from reading Sirius' will, and now that she learned that Sirius himself had become distrustful of the Headmaster, she had even more questions.

Now, though, wasn't the time to try to answer them. No, she had to visit someone in St. Mungo's.

* * *

Lillian slowly cracked open the door and peered into the darkened hospital room, hoping not to disturb its occupant.

"Who's there?"

Lillian winced but opened the door the rest of the way. "It's me," she answered softly.

"Lil! I was hoping you'd come!"

"How are you doing, Hermione?" Lillian asked as she pulled up a chair next to the bed.

"Better," the patient replied, struggling to sit up a bit.

"You're looking good."

"Liar. I look as bad as I feel. Just because I'm better doesn't mean that I'm doing well — if I were, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have had to transfer me here."

"Sorry," Lillian mumbled.

"Don't," Hermione insisted, her weakened voice growing firm. "I _am_ getting better, and the healers here say that I will fully recover. I'll have a scar, but that's the only long-term damage. I just have to put up with lots of potions and spells while I spend the rest of the month here."

"That long?"

Hermione nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. And you have no idea how bored I am. If it weren't for the fact that the potions make me tired and force me to sleep a lot, I'm sure I'd have gone insane by now."

"What about your schoolbooks? Your summer assignments?"

"My parents haven't brought them over yet," Hermione said, frowning slightly. "I think it's because they're so upset at what happened and are blaming Hogwarts. Hopefully they'll get over it before the month is out. I'm just glad that they can't pull me from Hogwarts and force me back into muggle schools, though I suspect they'd like to."

Lillian bit her bottom lip, thinking about the books which Sirius had given her. She hadn't decided yet if she was going to follow his advice, but even if she did, she doubted that she'd leave the country. She certainly wouldn't go farther than France. So she didn't need all of those guides, did she?

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I've got something that might help," Lillian said, reaching into the backpack and pulling out several books.

"Wow, where'd you get these?"

"Sirius' will was officially executed today. Dumbledore tried to prevent me from going, but I went anyway."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have been there for you."

Lillian shook her head and wiped at her eyes. "It's fine. Anyway, Sirius suggested that I take a vacation somewhere, saying that I needed a chance to relax, and he included all of these guidebooks to magical communities around the world."

"Are... are you going?" Hermione asked, pausing midway through the stack of books.

Lillian shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. But if I do, it won't be so far away. I'll want to look over these some time because maybe I'll have a chance to travel in the future, but for now I don't need them. You, however, obviously need something to occupy your time."

"I don't think I've ever seen anything like these," Hermione said absently, then she frowned and turned back to her best friend. "What do you mean the Headmaster tried to keep you from this? Why would he do that?"

"That's a good question," Lillian said as she reached back into the backpack. "Here's the will. Sirius wrote in a personal note that he had some concerns about him."

Hermione nodded as she read. "That is curious. What else is there? I can tell that there's more bothering you."

Lillian sighed, then lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "After the battle in the Ministry, Dumbledore sent me directly to his office. When he finally returned himself, he admitted to making all kinds of mistakes with me, including putting me with the Dursleys."

"He knew about them?" Hermione hissed.

"More than I realized," Lillian said. "He admitted to knowing that he was sentencing me to ten dark and difficult years when he dropped me on their doorstep like a newspaper."

"Who _does_ that to a child?"

"Someone who doesn't have to worry about being called to account for their actions," Lillian said grimly. "But that's not the worst of it. After he got done with that, he told me what that prophecy was. _He_ was the one it was originally given to."

Hermione slapped her hand to her face and groaned. "So it never needed to be protected or saved. It could have been simply smashed without any loss."

"Mr. Weasley didn't need to nearly die. And had Dumbledore even just told me that a prophecy existed, I'd have known that Voldemort was looking for it and might try to trick me into going there."

"So, what did the prophecy say?" Hermione asked. "I mean, if you don't mind telling me."

"According to the memory he showed me, it says: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but they will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'" Her voice trailed off as she gazed down at her hands in her lap. "That's it."

Hermione looked pensive. "I'll have to think about that, but it sounds like it means that it'll be you or Voldemort."

Lillian nodded. "That's what Dumbledore believes, which makes it awfully strange that he's never tried to train me."

"You don't believe it?"

Lillian shook her head. "Dumbledore said he heard it from Trelawney. Do _you_ trust her?"

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly. "Would they really have an entire room in the Department of Mysteries devoted to prophecy spheres if they were worthless?"

"It's _Trelawney_ ," Lillian repeated.

Hermione sighed and reached out to take Lillian's hand, gripping it as tightly as she could in her weakened state. "You know that I'll stand by your side, no matter what, don't you? Well, when I can stand again."

Lillian felt her chest tighten and her eyes grow moist. "I... I don't want you to get hurt again..."

"As long as Voldemort is around, I'm at risk for getting hurt just by existing," Hermione pointed out. Lillian nodded silently, not trusting her voice again. "You know, Sirius' suggestion about getting away is good. My family always takes a vacation over the summer, and I've never thought about how much it probably helps me. We usually go in July, which obviously won't be possible now, but if they decide to go in August, would you like to come along?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude!" Lillian said quickly. "That's your family time! I know how much you miss them—"

Hermione shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I think they'll be happy that I have a friend close enough to invite at all."

Lillian hesitated, then said, "OK, but only if they truly don't mind. And let them know that I can pay my own way, too. I don't want to be a burden."

Hermione smiled. "You're never a burden, but I'll tell them."

* * *

It was a week later when Lillian was cleaning the Dursley's living room that she was struck by an advert for a travel show on Sky One. Unlike the usual holiday destination fluff that always seemed to be on, this was an adventure holiday — a true adventure of travelling around the world, far from the throngs of humanity:

 _"Ewan Mcgregor and Charley Boorman take the ride of their lives. ... I love it here. The culture. The people. It's beautiful! ... This is the most exciting motorcycling I've ever done in my life. ... Long Way Round, on Sky Travel."_

Lillian just stood there, staring at the screen but not seeing it anymore as she thought about how much freedom a motorcycle could truly provide. And how much better would a flying motorcycle be?

"Long Way Round," she said softly, tasting the words. _Maybe not all the way round for me, but why not a little ways? Maybe leaving Britain for a while isn't such a bad idea after all? Maybe hitting the road is what I need — a journey, not a destination._

The next day she snuck out of the house early and hurried to the nearest bookshop, where she focused on the travel section. She hit paydirt when she stumbled across a companion book for _Long Way Round_ , as well as several other related books, including the one which originally inspired the show, _Jupiter's Travels_.

She bought them all and stayed up most of the night reading. The next day she snuck out early again and headed for a motorcycle shop she'd seen in passing.

"Can I help you?" a middle-aged clerk asked.

"Yes, I'm interested in motorcycle travel, and I wanted to look into what it would take to properly outfit a bike."

"Oh, really?" The clerk was looking at her skeptically now. "I'm not sure if you—"

"Here," Lillian interrupted him, pulling out the original manual which Sirius had included in her bag. "This is what I have."

"Well, that's quite the classic," the clerk said. "Is it in good condition?"

"Perfect."

The clerk hummed as he looked at her. "I take it you've been watching _Long Way Round?_ We've been getting a lot of inquiries about long-distance motorcycle travel ever since that documentary first aired last year. I have to warn you, the Norton isn't the best machine for such a rough journey."

"I haven't seen the show, but I have read the book. And I've been reading other books, like _Jupiter's Travels_. I know what sorts of dangers and hardships are out there, but I'm not looking to go as far afield as they did. I'm just looking to be able to travel and ride on my own, without always worrying about hotels, restaurants, and that sort of thing."

The man nodded approvingly. "That's good to hear. Too many people are distracted by what they imagine travelling is like. They ignore the hardships and tough times." He looked down again at the manual. "I'd still recommend a different machine, but we could make some modifications to the Norton so it'd be better suited. Even if you don't intend to hit rough terrain, you can't predict what you'll encounter once you start out."

Lillian frowned and looked at him closely for a long moment before saying, "Are these things I can do myself? If I do them, I'll understand the changes better — and the better I understand the motorcycle, the better off I'll be when I'm out on my own." She knew from experience that the long hours spent on maintenance for her brooms had been a big help in understanding their individual quirks and behaviors when in the air. She also didn't want any muggles to get too close a look at her motorcycle, lest they stumble across any of Sirius' magical enhancements. There was no way she'd be able to explain runic buttons that activated built-in silencing charms, invisibility charms, flying charms, and the like.

Apparently that had been exactly the right thing to say, because the man responded with a broad grin. "Yes, I think you might turn out fine after all. Come on, I've got a similar vintage bike out back. I'll show you exactly what we'd do to modify your Norton, then we can go over what sorts of bags and other accessories you'll need. I don't have many in stock, but I can order anything you'd like."

* * *

Lillian ended up going back several times over the next few weeks, getting a crash course in motorcycle modifications as well as ordering a helmet, saddlebags, and other accessories.

It was during one of her trips that she became aware of the fact that she was being followed by someone who was either disillusioned or under an invisibility cloak, and she concluded that it was likely someone in the Order — a Death Eater would have certainly tried to kidnap or harm her. As a result, she had to become a lot more careful in what she was doing so as not to tip someone off about her plans.

The one thing she didn't buy from the motorcycle shop was leathers, though she did take a catalog which showed the style she liked. She took it with her on a visit to Diagon Alley — done under her father's invisibility cloak — and found a store willing to put together something similar made from dragonhide and enhanced by several charms for protection and comfort. While there, she also picked up another bottomless backpack, a charmed wizarding tent, and books on enchanting so she could learn how to enhance and expand the muggle saddlebags she was buying.

* * *

It was mid-July before she got a chance to visit Hermione again, and this time she entered her best friend's room eager to tell her all about her plans. Lillian's good mood evaporated as soon as she saw how bad Hermione looked.

"What's wrong? Did you have a relapse?"

"No, it's my parents," Hermione said, sniffing. "They just left a little bit ago..."

"If they said they didn't want to take me on your trip, that's OK because—"

"Not only won't there be a trip, there won't even be a Hogwarts for me in September!"

"What?!" Lillian barely refrained from shouting. "I thought they couldn't put you back in muggle schools once you started Hogwarts!"

"They can't, but they _can_ move to another country," Hermione said, her head dropping into her hands. "Mum and Dad said that they've already put their practice up for sale, and we'll all be living in New Zealand before the end of the summer!"

Lillian didn't hesitate to climb into bed next to Hermione and pull her into a sideways hug, letting her best friend cry into her shoulder. She used that time to think, and her eyes darted back and forth as she considered all the possibilities and consequences. By the time Hermione's sobbing had subsided, she'd reached her decision.

She pulled back a little, forcing Hermione to look into her eyes. "Come with me," Lillian said.

"What?"

"I'm leaving. Come with me."

"Leaving!" Hermione was much less successful in keeping her voice down. "Where? When? Why? How?"

"Shh!" Lillian hissed, putting a finger over Hermione's mouth. "Sirius left me his bike, remember? I'm outfitting it for long-distance travel."

"Oh!" Hermione's eyes lit up in recognition. "You mean, like that show, _Long Way Round?_ I saw that when I was home last summer. But it's so dangerous!"

Lillian shook her head. "The show inspired me, but I don't intend to go quite so far off the grid as they did. And I'll have tools that they didn't, including a wizarding tent and bottomless backpacks. I also have books on enchanting that I hope will teach me how to improve the muggle accessories I have."

"But... why would you leave entirely? I thought you were just thinking about going on a vacation, not leave everyone else..."

"That was my original plan, sure. I'd never leave you in a lurch! But if you're not here, well, what reason do I have to stay?"

"What about our friends? Ron? Neville?"

"They have families and roots here. They have a lot more options for protecting themselves, not that they should have to rely on a sixteen-year-old witch to do it anyway. As a muggleborn, though, you're a lot more vulnerable. I wouldn't have left you behind to deal with Voldemort and the Ministry."

"The Headmaster won't approve," Hermione pointed out, though not very forcefully.

Lillian shrugged. "We already discussed how suspect some of his decisions have been. I'm not going to stick around and fight simply because he wants me to, never mind because Trelawney said in a weird voice that I have to. I'm not going to fight for a school that ostracized me in second and fourth year. I'm not going to fight for a society or Ministry that slandered me all last year. My parents died so I could live, not so I could become a child soldier in a war between two manipulative old men."

"But the prophecy..."

"I don't believe that ridiculous prophecy any more than you do. We walked out on Divination classes for a good reason, remember. Either Trelawney was drunk and desperate for a job, or Dumbledore made it up in order to keep me on a short leash. The idea that I, a teenager, am the only one who can 'vanquish' Voldemort is absurd."

Hermione looked doubtful. "I don't think he'll just give up on it. Or you. He may tell others to convince them to bring you back. If they believe that you're so necessary, they'll do almost anything to drag you back and force you to do your 'duty.'"

"Maybe," Lillian conceded. "But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"You can't give up on your education." Now Hermione sounded more certain of herself.

"I have my OWLs, and I can do much if not most of the rest via self-study. Maybe I'll find someplace along the way to take a few classes. I can stop by Flourish & Blotts to see what they have on schools and education around the world. Hogwarts isn't the only place to learn magic."

Hermione sat quietly then, her eyes now darting back and forth as she thought about the possibilities, just as Lillian had done. "And you'd really take me with you?" she finally asked. "Just like that?"

"You and no one else."

Hermione nodded. "OK, let's do it. But I insist that we investigate schools along the way — you can't learn everything with self study."

"As long as we put security first — I won't be hauled back here by the Order or the Ministry."

"Agreed." Hermione grabbed some paper and a pen from her nightstand. "There are so many places I read about in those guides that I'd love to visit. You'll need to get enough books for us to work with, though..."

Lillian's eyes widened at the list her best friend was creating. "I'm not sure how much room we'll have, even after expanding the bags..."

"Don't worry about it — get a library trunk. It'll hold thousands of volumes and shrink down small enough to fit into one of those backpacks."

"How do you know this?"

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "I've had my eye on one ever since I visited Diagon Alley for the first time. It's expensive, but I'll pay you back, I promise."

"Why am I not surprised?" Lillian said, rolling her eyes. "Maybe I should see about getting books from the Black family library, too, if one of these things has enough room in it. I haven't visited Sirius' home, but if we're leaving then I should see if there's anything there that will be useful."

"Will you be able to get there and get inside?"

Lillian nodded. "If I want to do something without the Order knowing, I sneak out under my invisibility cloak and walk a few blocks before pulling out and enlarging the motorcycle. That's how I've been getting to Diagon Alley. I should be able to find my way to Grimmauld Place, too."

"We'll be travelling mostly muggle, I assume?"

"As much as possible. The less time we spend in magical communities, the less likely we'll be spotted by someone who doesn't think we should be allowed to live our own lives."

Hermione nodded. "We'll have to be careful, then. If my parents try to hunt for me, my passport might get flagged by the police or border guards."

"Good point — I didn't think of that. Sirius left me a passport in the name of Black. No one else knows about it, so I shouldn't have any trouble, but I don't know if we can get one for you."

"We can check once we're outside Britain, but assume not. I'm also making a list of muggle travel and camping clothing for both of us. Just remember that I'm one size bigger than you."

"I'll try to sneak into London tomorrow. I think my watchers from the Order are getting wise. Oh, and I'll bring a bunch of notes that Sirius left me. Some of it looked useful."

After finishing her list, Hermione turned her head to look Lillian in the eye. "We're really doing this, aren't we? You and me, we're leaving?"

Lillian smiled and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. "It's going to be great — you'll see. We'll go where we want, learn what we want, and we won't be forced into solving other people's problems for them!"

"Completely unlike Hogwarts, then."

"Exactly." Lillian was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Since you seem to have developed some preferences from those guides, where do you want to go first? I'm flexible."

"The continent, obviously," Hermione answered. "My parents never took me to any magical communities there, so I'd like to look at a couple, assuming we can do it safely. But beyond that... I'm most interested in India. I've heard Parvati say a few things that have intrigued me, and what the guide for that region says is fascinating."

"India it is, then," Lillian confirmed. "We'll just take the long way there."

* * *

The shopping trip to London was delayed by an unexpected visit.

"Girl! Get down here!"

"What is it, Uncle... Oh! Professor McGonagall! I didn't expect to see you here. Is there something wrong?"

"I've come to return your broom, just as your letter requested. Or did you change your mind about wanting it back?"

"No! Not at all!' Lillian exclaimed, eagerly accepting the Firebolt. "I know I can't fly during the summer, but I wanted a chance to clean it and go over it before the start of sixth year."

"And that's the only reason I've agreed to let you have it back now, instead of waiting for you to arrive at Hogwarts in September," McGonagall said, then turned to Vernon and said, "Would you mind if I spoke to your niece in private?"

"Fine, but be quick about it," Vernon spat.

"I see that he hasn't mellowed with age," McGonagall said as she followed the younger witch up the stairs.

"I honestly can't imagine him being mellow," Lillian commented, offering her professor the single, broken chair in her room.

McGonagall looked around disdainfully at the small, poorly-furnished room and tried to avoid the black stains on the carpet as she sat down. The chair creaked ominously under her weight. "I hadn't realized that this is what you were forced to work with during the summers."

"Better than the cupboard," Lillian muttered.

McGonagall pursed her lips but didn't comment. Instead, she asked, "How are you doing, really?

"I've been better," Lillian admitted, dropping onto the bed. "I'm trying to keep busy, working the garage, doing errands, going to the shops. When I'm doing things, I don't have as much time to stop and think..."

McGonagall nodded sympathetically. "Understandable, but ignoring your feelings won't work forever, and might make things worse in the long run if you do it for too long."

"Maybe, but it's not like I have anyone here to help me with that, is there? Can you imagine Uncle Vernon offering me a shoulder to cry on?"

McGonagall sagged a little. "No, I suppose not. You do need to be around people who will support and help you, but the Headmaster has assured me that you can't be moved until the end of the month."

"He assured you, but I'll bet he didn't give you any solid reasons. He just relied on the strength of his reputation."

"He _is_ Albus Dumbledore," the older witch pointed out.

"Sure, and he's also human. He makes mistakes like everyone else. But how can anyone check for mistakes if they only find out about his plans once it's too late? How can anyone help him shoulder the many responsibilities he's taken on himself if he never trusts anyone with anything more than the barest minimum of information?"

"It sounds like you've had a lot of time to think about this, Miss Potter."

"Too much," Lillian agreed. "Too much time and too many mistakes."

Silence fell heavily in the room after that. Finally McGonagall looked at her sadly and said, "If you need anything, even if it's just to talk... send Hedwig. Last year, I wasn't there for you as much as I should have been, but I intend to rectify that."

"Thanks," Lillian replied, wishing she could trust her head of house with the plans she was working on, but not daring to speak about them. She couldn't take the chance.

The next day she resumed her shopping, getting the clothing and supplies which Hermione had requested as well as a second helmet. She also ordered a second set of enchanted dragonhide leathers to match her own.

At night, interspersed with plans for where to go for the upcoming trip, Lillian thought a lot about what it was going to be like spending so much time with Hermione. For months, perhaps even years, it would be just the two of them on the road. No Ron or Neville. No classes or professors. No family.

The thought was both exhilarating and frightening. She couldn't wait... and she wasn't sure if she'd survive it.

* * *

"Is there anything new to report about Miss Potter?" Dumbledore asked as the Order meeting in his office wound down.

"She seems to be home most of the time now," Tonks said. "She's only walked into town a couple of times in the last week. Otherwise she's working in the house, mostly."

"Good, good," Dumbledore said. "If she starts going more frequently again, tell me and I'll talk to her — let her know how important it is that she remain closer to her home."

"Surely it won't matter much longer anyway?" McGonagall broke in. "It's only another week or so until you'll be removing her from that place."

"Ah, that may not be possible. Given how many times she's left her home, I fear that she may need to stay there for an extra week or two. I must reiterate the importance of not bothering her while she is there. She needs the time alone to mourn Sirius, and any distractions would only make things harder on her."

McGonagall scowled but refrained from letting slip that she knew better what Lillian Potter's state of mind was like.

"Don't take too long to fetch her," Mad-Eye said. "We still need to find out if she controls headquarters and can let us start using it again."

Dumbledore nodded. "Quite right. I'm sure that she'll have at least the last week of August free."

"Hopefully we can get her to the Burrow for longer than that. It's bad enough that she'll have to spend her birthday alone!" Mrs. Weasley protested, but no one seemed to pay her much attention.

"Very well — if that's everything, we shall adjourn until next time."

McGonagall left much more slowly than the others, lost in thought as she considered what she might be able to do for her student and worried about what might happen if the right sort of help didn't reach her in time.

She had no idea that she was already far, far too late.

* * *

It was Lillian's birthday when everything was finally ready, which she thought was a good omen. She packed up everything she wanted to keep and pulled on her riding leathers before taking a final look around the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive.

"This is it, Hedwig — no more Dursleys," Lillian said as she opened the cage. The snowy owl barked softly, knowing that the rest of the house was still asleep and that it wouldn't be wise to wake them. "Head south," Lillian went on. "I don't know how long it will take us, but I hope we'll be in France by evening." Hedwig butted Lillian's head before flying out the window.

Lillian herself wasn't far behind, quietly slipping out the back door under her invisibility cloak and walking as fast as she could until she was several blocks away. Once she found a dark alley where she couldn't be seen, she removed the cloak, unshrunk the bike, and pulled on her helmet. The sidecar she left off and shrunk in her bag, figuring that they wouldn't need it right away. It only took her about half an hour to get to the muggle entrance for St. Mungo's, and luckily there was an alley across the street where she could park the bike and activate Sirius' built-in Notice-Me-Not Charm.

After pulling on a black cloak with a hood, she hurried through the magical entrance and up to Hermione's room.

"Lillian!" Hermione exclaimed when her friend revealed herself. "Is everything ready?"

"I've got your stuff in here," Lillian answered, holding up the bag.

"Great, I can't wait to get out of here."

"I got you a set of riding gear like mine," Lillian said as she set the bag on the floor and pulled off her cloak. "Everything is a size larger than my own, including the helmet. With your hair, I figured you'd need the extra room."

Hermione just nodded, not trusting her voice when she saw Lillian bend over to dig through the bag. She'd seen her best friend in varying states of undress for years now and had never thought anything of it. Seeing her in tight black leather, though, produced completely unexpected reactions. She felt her face flush and her mouth go dry as Lillian continued to talk about something... inconsequential, probably.

"Hermione!" Lillian exclaimed.

"What? Sorry!" Hermione answered, shaking her head.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, sorry," she said, trying to focus. "I just, uh... sorry. I've never seen you in an outfit like that, is all."

"I was told that it provides good protection for riding," Lillian said, running a hand down her side. "With the safety charms that Sirius put on the bike, we should be fine regardless, but I figured that it's better to be safe than sorry. Plus this has special comfort charms that make them a lot better than the muggle versions." She turned back to Hermione, shooting her a quizzical look. "Why, does it look bad on me?"

"No! Not at all!" Hermione said quickly. "It, uh, looks good on you."

"Glad to hear it," Lillian said, holding out a pile of black leather, "because you'll be wearing the same."

Hermione wasn't sure why Lillian looked so awkward and turned away while she dressed, but she was focused more on how smooth and comfortable the leather felt. She'd never owned anything in dragonhide before.

"How do I look?" she asked once she was done.

Now it was Lillian's turn to flush slightly at the sight of her best friend in tight black leather. "Wow... fantastic!"

Hermione gave a shy smile. "OK, so what's next in your devious plan to break me out of here?" she asked, forcing Lillian to focus again.

"Here, put this on," she said, holding out her invisibility cloak. "No one will see you, so they'll spend time searching the hospital before concluding that you've gone elsewhere."

"Good thinking."

Once they had their respective cloaks on and hoods up, they made their way out of the hospital. Lillian's lone dark form attracted a few curious looks, but no one spoke to or tried to stop her.

"Well, that was easier than I feared," Lillian said once they reached the motorcycle, taking off their cloaks and packing up. From one of the space-expanded saddlebags she pulled out two helmets, handing one to Hermione.

"Oi, this is heavy!"

"You get used to it," came Lillian's muffled reply. "But if you think you can do something to lighten them without compromising how well they protect us, I'm all ears."

Hermione nodded awkwardly, feeling the helmet's weight force her head to bob much farther than usual. "You're sure about your ability to do this, right?" she asked, suddenly nervous about riding a motorcycle now that she was faced with the reality of what they were doing.

"I've spent as much time practicing this past month as I dared," Lillian answered as she climbed on. "I haven't done it with a passenger, but we'll take it easy on the ride to your house then down to the coast. By the time we hit France, I should be fine."

Hermione nodded before climbing on herself. She'd just gotten herself situated when she grabbed Lillian's shoulder and squeezed hard. "Lillian! Look, it's my parents! They're here early!"

Lillian nodded as she fired up the motorcycle. The noise of the engine in the early morning stillness automatically attracted the Grangers' attention, and they turned towards the darkened alley across the street. "Now you see me, now you don't," Lillian whispered as she hit the button for invisibility. It was dangerous using that feature on the ground, but between it and the renewed Notice-Me-Not Charm, the Grangers never realized when the two witches roared out onto the street, instead looking around in confusion and wondering where the sound was coming from.

Traffic was light enough that they could travel several blocks before Lillian returned them to visibility, and they headed for Hermione's house in Crawley as quickly as Lillian dared. Once there, it didn't take Hermione long to find her passport, birth certificate, and mad money she'd squirreled away in her room. After she packed everything she thought she'd want, it was a slow, leisurely trip south until they got to the coast. From there they headed east until they got to the docks, where they caught a late morning ferry to France.

* * *

"If my parents report me as missing to the police, they'll eventually catch that I used my passport to go to France," Hermione said once they were travelling across the English Channel.

"True." Lillian was barely listening, focused on the movement of the water and the direction the ferry was moving.

"And they'll know that I travelled with someone. On a black motorcycle. If the Order interrogates my parents, they'll figure out that you and I are travelling together."

"Also true," Lillian agreed, looking quickly at her friend, "but you said you didn't want to fly across an open body of water."

Hermione sighed and leaned against the railing, looking down at the water as it passed by. "I know, but now I'm regretting that decision. I feel like my fear will cause us to get caught. Cause _you_ to get caught."

Lillian shrugged. "As long as we stick mostly to muggle areas, the Order shouldn't be able to find us. And if the muggle police look too closely at us, we'll use magic to get away."

"I feel like we're Thelma and Louise," Hermione muttered.

"Who?"

"It's a movie that came out in the early nineties," Hermione answered. "I'll explain it to you some time, but it doesn't exactly have a happy ending."

"Well, stop worrying about the past and what's behind us," Lillian said, grabbing Hermione's hand and pulling her along to the bow of the ferry. Once there, she put one arm around her best friend and used the other to point out in front of them, where a hazy strip was growing larger and clearer. "Look, we can see France already. That's where we're going. _That's_ what matters."


	16. Potter, PI (HP-Magnum, PI Xover)

**Potter, P.I.**

 **Summary:** Holly and Hermione have graduated from Hogwarts and are doing a little traveling so they can relax and unwind. One of their first stops is the Aloha State, where Hermione's uncle manages a large estate for a reclusive writer. While there, they're drawn into a dangerous criminal case by the estate's security specialist and part-time private investigator, Thomas Magnum.

 **Pairing:** That would be telling!

 **A/N:** Who didn't love _Magnum, P.I.?_ This AU crossover takes place in the summer of 1999, one year after the Final Battle at Hogwarts and 11 years after the final episode of _Magnum, P.I._ (ignore events in the last few episodes, especially where he returns to the Navy). Magnum is older, though not necessarily wiser, and he's not prepared for Holly and Hermione. They may appear to be no more than two teens looking for fun and relaxation, but their smiles are covering up the fact that they're trying to forget the horrors of war — not unlike what Magnum, Rick, and TC were doing 20 years earlier.

I don't think this would be a long story, maybe a half dozen chapters or so. It would mostly be humor, but there'd be a darker, more serious edge to it as well — much like a lot of the better _Magnum, P.I._ episodes, as a matter of fact. Also in keeping with the show's voice-over narration by Magnum himself, this story will be told from his perspective. However, there will be third-person perspective scenes of events that happen away from him — probably once per chapter. That's unusual for a written story, but it fits with the show.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own _Magnum, P.I._ , Belisarius Productions and NBC-Universal do.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Aloha!**

I know what you're thinking. The only reason I'd go out of my way to help two beautiful young girls, looking lost but excited as they entered the club, was because I wanted to hit on them. Well, you're wrong. Dead wrong.

OK, mostly wrong.

"Don't do it, Magnum — they're way too young for you."

"What are you talking about, TC?" I brushed the crumbs off my shirt and checked for stains.

"I'm talking about you rushing after those two college coeds by the bar. They're way too young, and you are most _definitely_ too old."

"Oh, those two?" I tried to straighten my hair in my reflection in the beer bottle. "They look kinda lost, so I thought I'd help them out. And besides, I'm not _old_. I'm... mature." I kept telling myself that the grey around my temples made me look distinguished, but even I had trouble believing it sometimes.

TC snorted. "Yeah, right. Besides, isn't it Rick's job to help people who come into the club? He _is_ the manager, after all."

"Well, Rick isn't here today, and as his friends it's our sworn duty to help him out."

"Rick doesn't... Magnum!" I didn't give his protests a second's worth of thought as I grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the two girls, a brunette and a redhead. Hawaii is filled with natural beauty of all sorts, but none of it beats the beauty of the women. I'm pretty sure there's something in the air here in paradise that makes them all look gorgeous once they step off the plane, but these two were in a class by themselves.

"Ladies," I said in greeting, putting on my best and most charming smile. "You look a little lost. Can I be of any help?"

"Oh, do you work here?" the brunette asked, lifting her sunglasses. She looked even younger than she had from across the room, and it briefly occurred to me that TC might have had a point.

"Well, not exactly," I answered, and her bright smile almost immediately disappeared. "My best friend manages the club, though." TC cleared his throat and I hurriedly amended, " _Our_ best friend manages the club." TC nodded and smiled. "I always try to help out my friends whenever I can."

I ignored TC's much louder throat-clearing this time.

"Oh, that's nice of you," the redhead said. When she lifted her sunglasses, I found myself looking into the greenest eyes I'd ever seen. She, too, was younger than I'd realized, though something about those eyes looked much older. Familiar, too, though I couldn't quite place why.

"My name's Magnum. Thomas Magnum," I said, holding out my hand to shake theirs. "Welcome to the King Kamehameha Club. And, judging by your accents, welcome to Hawaii as well."

"I'm TC. If you're lost or something, _we'd_ be happy to help."

"No, not lost exactly," the brunette said, shaking my hand. "My uncle lives in Hawaii, but his home is apparently rather secluded. He said it would be easier to try coming here first. He's on the board of directors and... oh, there he is! Uncle Higgy!"

Uncle... _Higgy?_

The brunette was off like a flash, and my head whipped around to follow the direction she was moving. There, on the other side of the room, was Higgins. He looked both happy and surprised — two expressions I rarely saw on his face separately, never mind together.

I turned back to the redhead, who looked tolerantly amused. "Uncle Higgy?" I half-whispered.

She shrugged. "Apparently it's something her mother always called him. So technically he's her great uncle, I guess."

"Suddenly I don't feel so bad about calling him Higgy-Baby all the time," TC said with a smirk.

The redhead laughed as she extended her hand. "My name's Holly, by the way — Holly Potter. My rather excitable friend there is Hermione Granger. We've just graduated from school in Scotland and are traveling for a while before we settle down and decide on what boring careers we'll pursue for the rest of our lives. She has a standing invitation from her uncle to visit any time she's in the neighborhood, so here we are."

"You'll be staying on the estate, then?" This was getting better and better. It had been a while since Robin had invited any young, female friends of his to stay, and I'd been getting awfully lonely with just Higgins and the dogs around to keep me company.

"You know about it?"

I nodded. "I stay there myself, in the guest house. I'm in charge of estate security."

"So, you're the one I'll want to talk to when I'm locked out in the middle of the night?"

"Absolutely, though I'm sure Higgins will be able to help, too." TC coughed rather loudly and shot me a look. I wasn't quite sure if she was hitting on me, but better her than her friend. If Higgins thought for even a second that I was doing anything remotely inappropriate with his niece, they'd never find my body.

Hell, he'd probably kill TC and Rick, too, just on general principle.

"So, what's a girl gotta do to get one of those?" She gestured with her chin towards the beer bottle that I'd forgotten I was still holding. I looked around and saw that Higgins' attention was still on his niece, so I leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle from the cooler.

"Are you old enough to drink?" I asked as I held it up.

"Old enough," she responded without any humor, and for a second I thought I saw something dark flash across her eyes. I shrugged mentally and popped the cap before handing it over, then looked over at TC. He'd noticed the same thing. In my profession you have to know how to read people, and something told me that this wasn't your typical, flighty college coed.

Clearly, I'd have to invest some serious time getting to know her better. It was vital to the estate's security, after all.

"Thanks," she said after taking a long pull. "It's a lot warmer here than what I'm used to in Scotland. Beautiful, but warm."

"You get used to it," I assured her. "And it's a great excuse to hang out on the beach or by the pool, both of which the estate has."

She smiled back at me. "Oh, I'll bet."

"Come on, Hol," her friend said excitedly, rushing back over to us. "Uncle Higgy says his car is out back, and he'll drive us over to the estate. It's right on the beach!"

"So I've heard," Holly said.

"You'll love it," I put in, figuring that good relations with Higgins' niece couldn't hurt. "There's also a pool, tennis courts, and a sauna. But the beach really is spectacular."

"That's what Uncle Higgy said. And it's completely private, too!" Hermione gushed. Holly smiled in return, though something told me that she was happier for her friend's sake than her own.

"OK, OK," Holly said. "Let's get our luggage—"

"No, he said he'd drive around front and pick it up," Hermione said, dragging her friend back towards the front doors.

"Definitely too young for you," TC muttered with a shake of his head. "Either one of them would give you a heart attack in about five minutes."

Higgins approached us before I could think of a retort, so I decided to needle him a bit instead. "So, your niece? Or grand-niece, I guess?"

"Yes, she is," he responded, looking a bit uncomfortable. "She's the daughter of my half-sister."

I smiled, recognizing that he'd be a lot easier to rile up than usual. "I thought you only had half-brothers?"

Higgins shook his head. "One brother, one sister, four half-brothers, and one half-sister."

"Your dad really got around," TC commented, stealing my line and causing Higgins to scowl.

I scowled briefly, too, remembering his brothers. I hoped desperately that the sister didn't look as much like Higgins as the brothers did, though judging from Hermione the woman couldn't look too awful.

"My half-sister has one daughter herself, Helen, and her daughter is currently the only grandchild out of all of the siblings, so of course we all dote on her to varying degrees. I haven't even seen her since... god, it must be nearly seventeen years now." Higgins paused and got a faraway look in his eyes as the memories rushed over him. After a moment, he shook his head and continued. "Far too long, I must say, but Hermione and I have been exchanging letters quite frequently for the last five years while she's been at school, so I've become fairly close to the girl."

"How long will they be staying on the estate?" I asked.

"I'm not sure — a couple of weeks at least," Higgins answered. Then his eyes narrowed. "I'm warning you right now, Magnum: I will not tolerate you taking any liberties with those young ladies."

"I was only saying hello—"

"I mean it," he said sharply, cutting me off, and from the look on his face I didn't doubt him. "Those two have had more than a few bad experiences recently. And no, I'm not going to explain what I mean by that — it's frankly none of your business. They are here to relax and get away from their problems, not to be interrogated, and I mean to see that they get that chance. I know very well how you tend to chase after Mr. Masters' young female guests, and I'm telling you right now that I will not stand for those two being treated in the same deplorable manner. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, I promise that I'll be a perfect gentleman, Uncle—"

"And don't even **think** about using that name," he hissed. "It would be best for your continued good health if you simply forgot that you ever heard it. Indeed, it might be wisest if you simply forgot that Holly Potter and Hermione Granger even exist."

I made a zipper motion across my mouth, locked an imaginary lock, and threw away an imaginary key, which seemed to only half-satisfy him.

"Uncle Higgy!"

I barely suppressed my smirk as he winced. He caught it anyway and glared at me before taking a deep breath and schooling his features into something less hostile. "Coming, Hermione," he called back as he turned and headed out. "Oh, and Magnum?" he said as he reached the door. "I'm putting Miss Potter's beer on your tab."

"What? She's the one who drank it!" I exclaimed, but he was already gone.

"Yeah, but you're the one who went behind the bar to get it," TC pointed out helpfully as he reached behind the bar and got himself one. "Besides, what do you care? You haven't paid your tab here in... what? Fifteen years?"

"Sixteen, but who's counting?" I grumbled. "And anyway, it's the principle of the thing."

"And it wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that it's been three months since your last case?"

I tried not to scowl at the reminder of how tight money had become lately. It wasn't just the lack of income or my dwindling savings, either. I'd endured lean times before. No, it was this look that I'd caught Higgins giving me every so often. He was planning something, and I didn't think it was simply having two unexpected guests staying at the estate.

"What do you think he meant by 'bad experiences'?" TC asked as we returned to our table.

"I don't know, but I'm kinda curious about that."

"Even though you're supposed to forget that those two even exist?"

I shrugged. "I'm in charge of estate security, which means I have to know about the people staying there. Robin understands that. That's why he's always made sure I have files on any guests he lets stay there."

TC nodded. "I'd forgotten about that. But you don't have any files on those two, do you?"

"Nope. Which means I'm going to have to look into them myself," I answered with a hint of a smile. "Deep, undercover investigation."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea..."

"It'll be fine — you worry too much," I insisted, but my little voice was telling me that TC might have a point. Again. I usually listened to that voice, and almost always regretted it when I didn't. I couldn't tell you why I was ignoring it this time, but it had absolutely nothing to do with gorgeous red hair and bright green eyes.

No, it was because of the dark shadow that had briefly passed across those green eyes. I didn't think she was a threat, per se, but she definitely wasn't the happy-go-lucky recent graduate that she appeared to be. Or was pretending to be, perhaps.

And I wanted to know why.

* * *

"So, who was that old guy?" Hermione asked as they were driving along the highway.

"Thomas Magnum, head of security at Robin's Nest," Higgins answered.

"Is there really a need for constant security? Is the place safe?" Hermione asked, looking at Holly and biting her bottom lip. "If this isn't a good time, Holly and I can—"

"I assure you, the estate is perfectly safe," Higgins interrupted, his voice calm and reassuring. "There are no current threats, nor have there been any for some time now, and the security there is top-notch. I understand your concerns — and trust me, I would put you on the next international flight out of Hawaii if I even _suspected_ that you might be in any danger. Few people even know the location of the estate, much less your connection to me, so the chances of anyone finding you here is astronomically remote."

"Is Magnum any good?" Holly asked as Hermione relaxed again.

"Magnum is competent, within his narrow sphere of expertise," Higgins allowed. "There is, however, limited call for his direct involvement in security matters. Mr. Masters is simply cautious, and likes to have Magnum on hand for when he himself or any high-profile guests are visiting."

"What does he do the rest of the time?"

"When he's not availing himself of Mr. Masters' property, or trying to sneak into Mr. Masters' wine cellar, he occasionally works as a private investigator."

"Really? I've never met a private eye before," Holly exclaimed, and Higgins looked a bit smug.

"It's not even remotely glamorous, I can assure you," he said. "In fact, if it weren't for sordid divorce cases and the like, I'm not sure he'd have much work at all."

"Which explains why he was at the club instead of out working, I suppose," Hermione commented.

"Quite true," Higgins responded with a glint in his eye. "He wasn't annoying you before I arrived, was he? Because being annoying is, sadly, one of his better skills."

"No, not really."

"I'm glad to hear it. With any luck, you won't be seeing much of him during your stay."

"Oh, does he have a new case?"

"Not that I'm aware of. However, a few years ago I contracted with Magnum to find and recover the Lost Art of the Ancients, a priceless scroll created by an ancient civilization that has passed into legend. He briefly succeeded, but managed to lose it again. Recently, I've come up with a plan for him to retrieve it, and I've been waiting for the proper moment to convince him to take the case up once more. I think now would be an excellent time."

"That's fine with me," Hermione said. "I don't think either of us are much interested in being around a lot of people right now."

"Nightmares?"

Holly nodded. "I know it's been a year, but between the castle repairs we had to help with, the politics I had to endure, and then completing our final year of schooling... well, it's not like we had any time to truly relax."

Higgins nodded in understanding. "You may not have been involved in battle over the past year, but you weren't given an opportunity to process your experiences, nor to recover from them. I can promise you that I will do everything within my power to ensure that Robin's Nest will be the sort of environment you need. And if that means finding ways to keep Magnum away and occupied, I will do so."

"I don't mind if he's around," Holly said with a shrug. "I thought he was kind of funny."

"You would," Hermione said, scrunching up her nose. "That cheesy moustache went out in the eighties, though. And don't get me started on his shirt. Even the Headmaster would have cringed."

Higgins smiled a private smile all the way back to the estate.


	17. Untitled HP-Worm Crossover

**Annoucement:** Due to scheduling issues with work, nothing will be published for the next two or three weeks. So expect the next installment of this series the second week of April.

 **Untitled HP/Worm Crossover**

 **Summary:** Skitter starts to experience a second trigger during Leviathan's attack on Brockton Bay, but the process is interrupted when a higher power intervenes. Taylor Hebert has a new and unexpected ally sent by Death itself; unfortunately, it wasn't possible for Iris Potter to arrive with her own body. So they're going to have to share Taylor's.

 **Crossover:** Worm/Harry Potter

 **Pairing:** Undecided

 **A/N:** I recently discovered wildbow's web serial _Worm_ and absolutely love it. It's dark enough that it's definitely not for everyone, but I still recommend it. I've also read a bunch of fanfiction, some of which has influenced this story — the most obvious being _I, Panacea_ by ack1308. If you aren't familiar with _Worm_ , you'll probably have trouble following this. Unfortunately, I can't do much about that without including so much background that I'd end up boring readers who are familiar with that story.

This isn't merely a crossover between _Worm_ and Harry Potter, it's a crossover between _Worm_ and a series of Harry Potter fanfics that I've been writing: _Witches of S.H.I.E.L.D_. Those fics are themselves a crossover between Harry Potter and the Avengers. So is this a triple crossover? Or a combination of crossover and fanfiction of my own fanfiction? The Iris Potter here is the same Iris from the _Witches of S.H.I.E.L.D_. fics, far into her own future, but I don't think you'll have to read them to enjoy this.

It's common to describe this or that type of power in _Worm_ fanfiction as "bullshit," but Potter Magic has the potential of being an entire order of magnitude more bullshitty. Is Lung getting cranky? Cast a Cheering Charm on him. Is Jack Slash threatening you? Transfigure his knife into a rubber chicken, then cast _Muffliato_ on him. And those are just canon spells! So the trick is to make Taylor and her new friend strong enough to make a difference and shake things up, but not so strong that the story becomes one long curbstomp.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own _Worm,_ wildbow does.

* * *

 **Flobberworm 1.1**

"I'm going to leave you wondering what happened to your teammate and what the big name capes are going to say to you. And do with you."

"Hey!" I raised my voice even more, desperate to stop Panacea. "Come back here!"

She turned her head to give me a dark look as she walked away. "I'd wish you good luck with Armsmaster, but I really don't care."

I was half a second from calling every cockroach, ant, and spider in the building and sending them after her when I heard a voice in my head.

 _ **That bitch!**_

I froze.

 _ **Granted, it sounds like you two have a history, and maybe you weren't very nice to her the last time you met...**_

I'd heard that same voice towards the end of the fight with Leviathan. It had screamed at me to move, but I had been too slow. That was the strike which had broken my back.

 _ **...but still, if she's going to play Healer like that, she has an obligation to treat patients better. It comes with the territory.**_

I had assumed that the voice was my subconscious — a warning that my conscious mind hadn't been fast enough to understand. But now...

 _ **No, I'm not your subconscious...**_

Now I figured I was going insane. What was it that Panacea had said before she healed my back? Oh, right — a brain injury from one of Bakuda's bombs. That was it. Apparently, it was worse than I'd realized. That, or Panacea had done something to fuck with me... but no, I was hearing the voice before. Split personality, then? Some consequence of my attempt to live a double life? A product of my guilt at hiding my powers from my father? At hiding my becoming a supervillain in my attempts to be a hero?

 _ **I'm real, dammit! I was sent her to help you!**_

 _How... how can you possibly be real?_ I asked in my head. _And who could have sent you?_

 _ **That's a long story, I'm afraid. I promise I'll tell you, but this isn't the time or—**_

 _Right. Of course it's a long story. It begins with Taylor suffering a psychotic break while lying manacled in a hospital bed, waiting to be arrested, and ends with her being locked in a padded room, visited on alternate Saturdays by her grieving father..._

I sighed. I'd progressed from merely talking to myself to talking to myself _about_ myself in the third person. What was next? Hallucinations?

 _ **I assure you that you're perfectly sane, at least as far as I can tell from in here. I can't rifle through your mind and memories — I can only see your current thoughts and reactions. But they all look reasonably healthy to me.**_

 _In here? You're seriously telling me that there's another person in my head? And that's supposed to make me feel_ _ **better**_ _? If you're not me, then who the hell_ _ **are**_ _you?_

 _ **My name is Iris Potter, and I'm not any happier about this than you are. Like I said, I was sent to help, but I didn't know that I'd have to become a passenger in your head to do it. Regardless, it looks like you could indeed use the help right now.**_

I looked down and pulled against the manacle that was keeping me in bed. _Fine — can you prove that you're real and that I'm not having a psychotic breakdown?_

 _ **I think so. If I were simply a product of your fraying sanity, I wouldn't be able to do anything that you can't already do, right?**_

I considered that for a moment. _Probably not. Unless I had a second trigger event that gave me new powers._

 _ **Second trigger event?**_ the voice asked. _**Oh... well, you might have been about to have one when I arrived, I'm not sure; but if so, then I think my presence stopped it.**_

I wasn't sure if I should be glad or upset about that. Not much was known about second trigger events, but they happened in the wake of experiences that were even worse than those which caused a cape's first trigger. So I'd had the terrible experience, but not the powers to help me through it. Great.

 _ **Ultimately, I think you should be happy. What you went through was horrible, but I think my presence is having a stabilizing influence on your mind.**_

 _Wait, are you reading my mind? ..._ OK, that was kind of a stupid thing to ask, if I was talking to myself.

 _ **No — like I said, I can't invade your privacy. I can only see or learn what you're actively thinking about. And for a moment there, you were thinking about what happened during the battle as well as what little is known about second trigger events.**_

Well, that was something, at least. Maybe. _So, what's this about proof?_

 _ **Even if you had a second trigger event, that would merely expand on your current powers, right? Nothing radically new and different?**_

 _That's the theory, at least._

 _ **And none of your current abilities comes anywhere close to helping you get these cuffs off, right?**_

I looked down again at the manacles, thinking about how I might use various bugs to steal keys and bring them to me. Unfortunately, there weren't any PRT officers close enough to do that. _No, not directly,_ I admitted.

 _ **Well, I can get them off, and in a way that is completely unrelated to any of your powers. That should prove that I'm not you and that you're not talking to yourself.**_

My eyes widened slightly. If the voice was right, then that was both welcome and disturbing news. I was rather undecided about whether having a real person in my head was better or worse than a psychotic break. One benefit, though, is that it would prove that I wasn't being mastered by someone projecting their voice into my head.

 _How will you do that?_ I asked.

 _ **Magic.**_

I snorted aloud. _Yeah, right. There's no such thing. Even Myrddin simply imitates magic._

 _ **Look...Taylor, is it? You live in a world where some people fly, others are invulnerable to physical damage, and still others shoot frickin' laser beams from their hands. And you're scoffing at the idea that magic might exist somewhere else?**_

She had a point. When did people shooting lasers from their hands become normal? _You're from an alternate Earth, then?_

 _ **You sound less surprised about that than about the magic.**_

 _Some years ago, a villain named Professor Haywire tore open a hole between our Earth and Earth Aleph. Travel is forbidden, but we've been trading movies and other media ever since._

 _ **Well, that's not where I'm from, otherwise I'd have heard of this world,**_ she said. _**But it looks like I'm from some other alternate Earth.**_

 _Why are you offering to help me?_ I suddenly asked, setting aside her possible origin for now. Hardly anyone had ever offered to help me, and I wasn't feeling too trusting.

 _ **For one thing, what happens to you happens to me, and I don't want to get arrested, either. Based on your reaction to the possibility, I'm guessing that you don't expect to be treated fairly. I have some experience with sham trials, and I have no desire to repeat such experiences here.**_

 _I'm a villain, though. Doesn't that matter to you?_ I didn't like to think of myself as a villain. I didn't want to _be_ a villain, but that was what I'd become on my quest to become a hero. Despite all my good intentions, that was how people saw me. I needed to know the motives of the voice offering to help me, because I didn't want her "help" to make things even worse.

Assuming that was even possible.

 _ **Of course it matters, but I wouldn't have been sent to help you if you were truly evil.**_

That word was like a splash of cold water. Was I evil? Was I becoming evil? _I... I've done things. A lot of things. Things I'm not proud of. Some were necessary. Others... others had consequences that I never expected._

 _ **Do you regret them?**_ The voice sounded a bit softer in my head. I tried to imagine a kind face — the face of someone who cared.

 _I don't know. I don't think so. Does that make me a bad person? I regret the need to do them, but I can't see any better alternatives. So I'm going to have to stand by them, however much I dislike them._

 _ **I know what that's like. Living with hard choices isn't easy, but you show a lot of maturity in being willing to stand by your choices like that. Maybe one reason I'm here is to create new options so you can do more things you're proud of instead of being forced into always choosing the lesser evil.**_

 _Magical options, you mean? OK, then, start proving you're not me. Unlock these cuffs._

 _ **It's not that simple. I can't do it from in here. I need a body to channel my magic — your body, specifically.**_

"WHAT?" I said aloud, not caring if anyone heard me.

 _ **How do you expect me to affect the physical world without physical access to it?**_

 _Gee, I dunno... how about magic?_ I replied, biting back the "duh!"

 _ **Har-de-har-har.**_

 _Why can't I do it? Let me use your magic, or whatever it is._

 _ **Not possible. My best understanding is that magic is inherent in the soul, which is me. That's what's in here sharing your body: my soul. So only I can do it. But I need a physical body to channel my magic into the physical world**_ _._

 _Your best understanding? Not filling me with confidence here._ This idea was looking worse and worse by the second. I shifted my attention to the insects around me, but still didn't find any PRT officers that I could steal keys from.

 _ **Magical theory was never one of my strengths. I've always been better with practical applications. Doing things. Theory was... Hermione's area of expertise.**_

I detected a deep sense of sadness and loss in those words, increasing my growing impression that the voice wasn't me after all. I ignored it, though, in favor of more pressing issues. I still needed to know more about who or what this was. _I'm surprised you haven't tried to forcibly take control and do what you want._

 _ **I'm not sure I could, but I wouldn't even try unless it were a life-or-death emergency. We need to share this body, and we can't do that if we don't trust each other.**_

 _MY body, you mean,_ I retorted immediately. _You're an unwelcome guest!_

 _ **So, my help is unwelcome? You don't want my assistance in getting those cuffs undone?**_

I pulled again at the cuffs, and they were as solid as the past few times. _How long are you here for, anyway?_

 _ **Not a clue. Maybe until I've helped you do whatever you need to do. Maybe until you die. It wasn't exactly my choice to come here — I doubt I'll get to decide when I leave.**_

 _Oh, that's just great._

 _ **Tell me about it. I had plans. Expectations. I was... there was someone waiting for me, and now they'll have to wait longer.**_

 _You don't sound happy._

 _ **Oh, trust me, I'm not. Not in the slightest. However, I'm certainly not going to take it out on you. You're not to blame — the one who sent me is.**_

 _And who was it that sent you?_

 _ **Like I said, that's a long story — and I don't think we have the time, do we?**_

I closed my eyes and sighed. I didn't want to do this, but I'd done much worse so far to others. Was I really such a hypocrite that I was unwilling to inconvenience myself in order to achieve my goals? "OK, do it," I whispered. "Just promise me that you'll give me back control when you're done."

 _ **I promise,**_ the voice said, and almost immediately I felt a bit like I was floating. I could still feel my body, but the sensations weren't as strong. The aches and pains had lessened. Sounds were muffled. My eyes opened and I could see all around me, just like before, but the colors were muted.

I felt my head look down at the cuffed wrist as my other hand moved over top. It was so strange, watching my own hand move when I wasn't doing it. My mouth opened and I heard my voice say, _"Alohomora!"_

Even as the strange word was leaving my mouth, I felt a tingling sensation along my arm and in my hand, then the cuffs fell open and my arm was free. I was rubbing that wrist when the world seemed to snap back into place as sensations rushed back, color and sounds returning to full force.

The aches and pains did, too.

 _That felt... weird,_ I said.

 _ **I'm not surprised — I was a bit freaked out by being a passenger, too. I'm sure we'll get used to—**_

 _No, not that,_ I interrupted. _Well, yeah, that was weird, too, but I meant the magic part._

 _ **You felt that?**_ Iris asked. Yeah, I was definitely going to have to start calling her Iris. After that display, I couldn't maintain that I was talking to myself anymore. I still wasn't sure that actually having someone else in my head was an improvement over suffering a psychotic break, but I knew that I wasn't being mastered. Even Teacher only gave his victims basic thinker or tinkers powers — nothing like this.

 _I guess so,_ I answered. _Shouldn't I have been able to?_

 _ **I don't know. This is as new to me as it is to you. But it does strike me as odd. I never feel anything unless I'm exhausted or I'm casting heavy-duty spells.**_

I picked up the now-open cuffs and examined them. _Weird or not,_ I conceded, _it was pretty damned cool._

 _ **I know, right?**_ she said, and I could feel her enthusiasm. _**Magic is awesome!**_

I slid out of the bed and gingerly stood, careful about using my newly healed back. I looked down as I moved my legs around and discovered that most of my costume had been ruined in the fight. I was very happy that I'd been under a sheet, because more of my skin was now exposed than covered. I wasn't sure what I should do next — frankly, I'd be less embarrassed walking around naked than how I was now.

 _ **I can fix that,**_ Iris announced. _**Temporarily, at least.**_

I grimaced, knowing that I'd have to give up control of my body again, but it wasn't like I had much choice in the matter. That had become the story of my life over the past few weeks, and I had a feeling that it was only going to get worse.

Once again I felt like I was floating, and I watched as my hands ran down along my body as my mouth moved, saying _"Reparo!"_ My hands tingled as the tattered remains of my costume twisted and stretched. Tears disappeared and gaping holes filled back in. I was so entranced by the sight that I didn't even notice when sensations returned to normal. I just kind of gaped as I ran my hands up and down a costume that felt as if it were brand-new again.

 _ **Tick-tock, Taylor — less basking in how awesome my magic is and more fleeing from the police.**_

My head snapped up as I heard several loud voices coming closer. I took a chance to peek out through the curtains, and saw lots of people walking around, none of whom seemed to be paying close attention to me.

 _ **Now I'm wishing even more that I could have come here physically. My invisibility cloak would be really useful right about now.**_

 _You could make yourself invisible?_

 _ **I had several options for achieving that, but I didn't bring anything physical with me, and I don't think I'll be able to do any of those spells without a wand.**_

 _We are going to have to have a long, long talk about your powers,_ I said. _Is there anything you_ _ **can't**_ _do?_

 _ **I can't bring back the dead — not really. At least, not in a way that any sane person would approve of. I can't create true love. I can't conjure real food or precious metals. Other than that, I'm only limited by my knowledge, morals, and imagination.**_

 _Fuck me!_

 _ **That would be... difficult in our current circumstances. Not impossible, I suppose, but difficult.**_

I shivered as my mind threw up a series of images and memories that I really didn't want to think about just then. I heard her chuckle at my discomfort before she returned to business. _**Grab your chart. If we can find one of those long, white lab coats, you can pretend to be a technician or something.**_

 _That will mean taking off my mask,_ I pointed out as I followed her instructions. _I'd be exposing my identity._

 _ **It's a risk,**_ she agreed, _**but if people assume you belong here, they won't look at you twice. Sometimes the best place to hide is right out in plain view.**_

 _You sound like you have some experience with that,_ I said as I slipped under the curtain to the next bed over. There was no one there, but there was a deep, red stain in the bed that gave me pause.

 _ **Infiltration, espionage, you name it,**_ Iris confirmed.

 _I'm sure it was a lot easier with magic._

 _ **For a long time, I used as little magic as possible, so I came by my successes the hard way. There's a lot I can teach you, even without your being able to do magic, though there's probably even more that I'd rather you never have to learn.**_

That sounded ominous. Despite the circumstances, I couldn't stop myself from asking, _Have you ever killed anyone?_ Almost as soon as the words formed in my mind, I regretted them.

There was a long pause as I slipped under the next curtain and again encountered an empty bed. _**Yes**_ _,_ she finally answered. She didn't elaborate, though, and I decided not to press her on it. Maybe she would be able to help me deal with my choices. Or help me make better ones.

Judging by her words earlier, she sounded older than me, and I had been coming to the realization that I needed the help and advice of someone more experienced. A friend, maybe, but an older friend. Like an older sister, or even a mentor. I'd never get one in the Protectorate or PRT — I didn't even want to _think_ about getting one from any of the villain gangs. And there was no way I could talk to my dad about these things. That didn't leave me a lot of options... at least, no options from my Earth.

Before I continued on, I saw a white lab coat draped over a chair. I hesitated, but decided to follow Iris' advice and put it on. It was a bit big on me, but that simply helped conceal my backpack. I removed my mask and slipped it back into a compartment. I took a deep breath before moving on to the next bed. Without my mask I was exposed — more exposed than I would have been if I hadn't let Iris repair my costume.

But she was right about the value of anonymity. People wearing masks and costumes weren't unusual in this hospital right now, but if they were looking to arrest me, then Skitter walking around free would quickly attract attention. A random girl in a white coat, though, would be ignored. And as Taylor Hebert, I was used to people ignoring me. I'd gotten good at keeping my head down, moving anonymously through a crowd. I could usually avoid Madison, Emma, and Sophia, so long as they didn't see my hair bobbing along...

 _My hair!_ I exclaimed.

 _ **What about it?**_

 _My mask only covers my face. It leaves the back of my head exposed. Someone might recognize my hair!_

 _ **Not the smartest decision...**_

 _I like my hair!_ And I did. I hated the rest of my body, hated that I physically looked more like a boy than a girl, but that was why I liked my hair so much. It was my mother's hair, and it was the most feminine thing about me.

But once again, Iris was right. Leaving it exposed and thus identifiable hadn't been smart.

 _ **Maybe I can do something about that, too. Human transfiguration won't be possible without a wand, but a simple glamour charm might stick long enough to get us out of here.**_

 _Do it,_ I said, and this time I didn't hesitate to relax and relinquish control. I felt my arms rise and my hands sink into my hair before the words _"Como Colovaria!"_ came out of my mouth. Iris seemed to wait for a few seconds before she returned control to me, and I immediately pulled a lock of hair in front of my eyes.

 _Red?_ I asked. _Won't that attract attention?_

 _ **It's my own hair color. Or was, I guess. It's the color I'm most intimately familiar with and thus the easiest for me to do.**_

I shrugged. I doubted that I looked good as a redhead, but I couldn't deny that it was nothing like the hair people associated with Skitter.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

I whipped my head around at the shouting, recognizing Armsmaster's angry voice. I didn't waste any more time slipping under the divider and into the next patient area, but that was when I froze at the sight of the unconscious form in front of me.

It was Sophia Hess.

Sophia _fucking_ Hess.

What the hell was she doing here? I blinked and looked again, and it only took me a second to recognize her costume.

Shadow Stalker — one of the Wards here in Brockton Bay.

Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.

I almost instantly reviewed every encounter with her over the past year and a half. I now understood how and why she, Emma, and Madison had managed to get inside my locker so many times. I'd thought that they'd simply kept figuring out my combination, but I'd been wrong. Sophia had used her parahuman powers as Shadow Stalker to reach in and steal my homework. Steal my books. Steal... my mother's flute.

I felt my jaw clench as I reviewed my interactions with teachers and Principal Blackwell, too. I'd thought that they'd refused to believe me because Sophia, Emma, and Madison were popular girls. Because Emma's father was a lawyer and Sophia was a track star. But that hadn't been it, had it? The adults at Winslow High must have known that Sophia was a Ward. They had protected her from my complaints. They had chosen to sacrifice me so they could keep her record clean. Keep a Ward in a school that suffered from gang activity.

I had been a fucking sacrificial lamb to them. My suffering had been deemed irrelevant. They had let her destroy my life. They had let her get away with stuffing me in my locker, trapped for hours in rotting, insect-ridden filth, just to—

 _ **Taylor!**_ Iris shouted.

I shook my head as my train of thought derailed. _What?_ Distantly, I realized that I'd been unconsciously drawing bugs towards me, and I quickly let them go.

 _ **What is the matter with you? You've been standing here, staring for nearly a minute...**_

 _This... this piece of shit,_ I started. _Do you have any idea what she's done to me—_

 _ **Since it all just flashed through your mind, yes,**_ Iris interrupted. _**And I also have a good idea of how the adults at your school handled it. Believe me, I'm as angry as you, but now is not the time.**_

 _But... but..._

 _ **Now is NOT the time,**_ she repeated. _**We have to LEAVE. We'll take care of Sophia later, but to do that, we need to be free.**_

"Promise?" I whispered.

 _ **Her and all the rest of the assholes who thought that the life of a lonely teen girl was worth sacrificing to protect this bitch,**_ Iris said, and an image of glowing green eyes flashed in my mind.

I believed her.

"She can't be far." Armsmaster's voice was closer than it had been before. "I am detecting a large number of cockroaches in the area."

"Shit!" I hissed. I took a deep breath, looked down at the chart, and stepped out from Sophia's curtained area. If I kept looking at the chart, ignoring everyone else, maybe everyone would ignore me.

Just keep looking at the chart. Just keep looking at—

I got maybe three steps before I collided with someone big enough to bounce me back a step. I cringed when I looked up and realized that it was Grue, accompanied by Regent, Tattletale, and Bitch. We all just stared in surprise at each other.

Regent started to say something, but Tattletale elbowed him before narrowing her eyes at me. That was the last thing I needed just then — Tattletale's undivided attention.

"You, Undersiders! Stay where you are!"

Correction: _Armsmaster's_ attention was the last thing I needed.

Luckily for us, Tattletale was quick on her feet. "Run interference," she whispered to Grue as she pushed him towards the oncoming heroes. I refused to look in their direction, lest something in my eyes give me away, but I could tell that Armsmaster was accompanied by Miss Militia and Legend at the very least. "Remember," she continued as she pushed Regent and Bitch to follow, "we haven't seen _Skitter_ since the organizational meeting before the battle."

"Whatever," Bitch muttered, and for a few seconds, I was alone with Tattletale.

"Something happened," she said. It wasn't a question.

I nodded.

She cocked her head slightly, then grimaced. "I'm trying to figure out what it is, but it's making my head hurt."

"Don't," I insisted. "Don't get a migraine on my account. You won't be able to work it out. Even I'm not sure what this is."

"But you're OK?" she asked, and I didn't doubt that her concern was genuine. Despite my break from the team and the hard feelings that had produced, Tattletale still cared. She was still... my friend? I hoped so.

"I don't know, but I think I will be," I answered.

She frowned, but we both knew that our time was up. "Don't be a stranger," she whispered. "Contact us." She then turned and joined the team around the corner in their argument with the heroes.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that you haven't seen Skitter?" Armsmaster demanded as I headed away from them.

 _ **Keep moving,**_ Iris said. _**Don't look like you're paying any attention to that conversation. Real emergency workers in a situation like this are tired and focused on their jobs,**_ _**Resist the urge to hurry, and definitely don't run.**_

"Not since the start of the fight, as I'm sure the others already told you," Tattletale answered.

I was sure I could hear him grinding his teeth. "The lie detector in my helmet says that isn't completely true. But it also says that it's not a lie."

"How can that be?" Miss Militia asked.

"Tattletale is a manipulative Thinker who likes to play head games," Armsmaster answered. "Nothing she says can be trusted, not even when she's telling the truth."

"I'm flattered," Tattletale replied as I stopped in front of a door. A door with sunlight coming through the window.

"And that reads as a complete truth," Armsmaster practically growled. "If you know anything about Skitter's whereabouts, it will go better if you tell us now."

I had already grasped the handle to open the door, but I paused when I heard that.

 _ **What are you doing?**_ Iris asked. _**This is the exit!**_

"Is that a threat?" Grue asked. "If so, you'd be violating the truce."

"Not if you violated it first," Armsmaster shot back. "I found you standing outside this patient's bed area. I have to wonder if you looked in, trying to discover someone's civilian identity." I heard cloth rustle. "It's a Ward, too. Unmasked. This definitely looks suspicious. Too suspicious to be a coincidence."

"What the hell?" Grue exclaimed. "We were just walking by!"

 _Those are my friends!_ I raged at Iris. _Or they were. I don't know if they still are or not, but I can't let them get railroaded!_

"Maybe you were, maybe you weren't. We'll have to let an investigation determine that." He paused meaningfully. "Unless, of course, we find ourselves too busy with Skitter to take you four into custody..."

Miss Militia entered the conversation, saying. "Armsmaster, are you certain—"

"If they've violated the truce, or have been helping Skitter violate the truce, we need to know," he interrupted harshly.

 _ **Can you and your four friends take on those heroes, even assuming they don't get reinforcements? Do you want to get into a fight here, among all these wounded people?**_ Iris asked. _**No? I didn't think so. If you want to help them, we'll help them — but we need to be free in order to do that. And freedom is on the other side of that door, not back the way we came.**_

"Speaking of violating the truce, I noticed that an awful lot of capes died in your area at the end of the battle, Armsmaster," Tattletale said. "All villains, too. Coincidence?"

"Armsmaster?" Legend asked as I opened the door and felt the dawn sun warm my face. Had I been unconscious that long? I tried to ignore the conversation and focus on getting away. Tattletale was obviously trying to buy me time, and I'd be an idiot if I wasted it. If it caused them to be arrested, then I'd find a way to help. I owed them that much, at least.

And I'd have help, now, too.

"I told you, she likes to play head games," Armsmaster spat as I stepped outside and the door slowly closed behind me. "But maybe she and the rest of her gang would like to hear about how Skitter approached me with a plan to infiltrate the Undersiders. How she wanted to be a hero by going undercover and getting the dirt on them. She wanted to make a big name for herself by bringing them all in..."

The door behind me slammed closed, cutting off further sound. Not that I needed to hear any more, I knew exactly what he was telling them, the bastard.

Suddenly the sunlight didn't feel nearly so warm or inviting.

 _ **Keep going,**_ Iris said softly, almost gently. _**We'll figure this out.**_

"Promise?"

 _ **Promise. And I always keep my promises — the good and the bad.**_


	18. Untitled Harry Potter-Ranma Crossover

**Harry ½**

 **Summary:** Sirius takes Harry away for a summer of training. They leave Britain, both for safety and so Harry can be introduced to magic elsewhere in the world. While in China, Sirius gets the bright idea to train in a place called Jusenkyo, and life for the two of them will never be the same again.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/Ranma ½

 **Pairing:** Harry/Hermione/?

 **A/N:** I think there's a lot of potential here. I imagine it being like my Amy Potter story, both in length and in tone. One question I'd need to answer is when it would take place. Should I do fourth year again? That's probably the best context for humor with this idea — can you imagine Shampoo showing up for the first task? Cologne at the second task? And then there's the Yule Ball! However, I've also done fourth year the most, which makes it somewhat less interesting for me and that would likely be reflected in the quality of the writing. Fifth year? Umbridge might be too difficult to work around. Sixth year? That would probably be boring.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Ranma ½, Rumiko Takahashi and Shogakukan do.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Here's Harry!**

A dense veil of fog blanketed the neighborhood, muffling both sight and sound. It was early morning, so Grimmauld Place was mercifully free of traffic. That is, until the veil parted and a lone silhouette trudged forward. Head and shoulders were bowed as if under a great weight, though the backpack the figure bore was nowhere near full. Eventually his slow gait brought him to a standstill in front of the oldest, most dilapidated house on a street of houses that had long since seen better days.

A damp breeze thinned the fog, revealing green eyes staring up at Number 12.

The young man ran a hand through his messy black hair, delaying the inevitable, until finally he mounted the steps and stood in front of the door. "Well, this is it," came his whispered voice.

A flash of light was instantly followed by a crack of thunder. Unseen clouds above opened up, bathing the city with unseasonably cold rain.

"Great," came the voice again, now louder and higher-pitched. A head covered in red hair thumped against the door. "Just great."

"Woof!"

A large dog bounded up the steps, head-butting the person at the door. Once solid black, the dog had acquired a bizarre pattern of white body with black legs, white head with black eyes and ears. It was still undeniably a dog, yet it was also disturbingly reminiscent of a bear.

"Woof!"

"Alright, alright!" A wand was drawn and pressed against the door. "Harry Potter requests entrance."

Nothing happened.

There was another flash of lightning as thunder rumbled deeply.

"Woof! Woof!"

The young man scowled. "I'm gonna neuter you, you mangy mutt! I swear to Merlin I will!"

"Woof!"

After a deep breath, the wand was once again pressed against the door. "Harriet Black requests entrance."

A metallic thunk reverberated through the door, which then creaked loudly as it slowly opened to reveal a dark, dank hallway.

"Hasn't changed a bit."

The dog ignored the commentary in favor of charging into the house, barking and carrying on as it galloped towards the kitchen.

The lone figure stepped inside, avoiding the troll-foot umbrella stand. Noises could be heard from the floors above as people were awoken by the dog's incessant barking.

"What's that noise?"

"Who let a dog in here?"

"Sirius! It must be Sirius, which means Harry's back, too!"

The house fairly shook as people thundered down multiple flights of steps, all eager to greet the new arrivals.

"Harry!" cried a young, brunette girl in excitement, only to stop in astonishment halfway down the last flight.

"Oi, Hermione, what's the big idea?"

"Yeah, why'd you stop?"

The brunette pointed, and the others joined her in shock for only a moment before wands were drawn and pointed at the busty, redheaded girl standing silently in the entrance hallway.

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded. "Who are you and how'd you get in here?"

Head bowed, the girl took a deep breath. "It's me. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Hoof!" The dog had returned, a bone of dubious origins clamped securely in its jaw.

"...Sorry about this," she finished lamely.

* * *

The kitchen was packed with people and noise as everyone tried to make their opinions known. Even the bizarre dog chimed in occasionally. Only the mysterious girl remained silent, head bowed as she absently traced random patterns with her finger on the old wooden table. Perhaps it was because she was sitting alone at one end of the room while several of the loud, opinionated people kept their wands firmly pointed in the direction of her and the dog.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

The room quieted almost instantly.

"I came as quickly as I could," the old wizard replied. "I take it no one has questioned our guest?"

"We thought it best if you did it," said Molly Weasley, shooting a suspicious look in the direction of the girl.

"You did the right thing," came a voice from behind Dumbledore, and out stepped Mad-Eye Moody, wand already raised. "Best to let the experts handle this."

"You claim to be Harry Potter and were found with Harry Potter's wand," the old wizard said, taking a seat next to the young girl. "Yet I can say with some certainty that you look nothing at all like him." She finally looked up, and her bright green eyes met Dumbledore's widening blue ones. "Although... you do bear a striking resemblance to _Lily_ Potter."

"Can you prove you're Harry Potter?" Mad-Eye asked brusquely.

"Will my patronus do?"

Mad-Eye snorted. "Sure, if we were foolish enough to give you a wand."

"I think... I think that may be a good idea." Dumbledore said, causing the room to erupt again.

"Albus?" Moody's crazy eye stopped spinning and fixed squarely on Dumbledore.

The Headmaster raised a hand to quiet everyone again. "I know there is some risk, but I believe it's worth it."

The others in the kitchen looked at Dumbledore as if he were insane, but Arthur nodded and pulled from his jacket the wand that had been taken from the girl earlier. Dumbledore accepted it and handed it over. "If you would, please cast your patronus."

"And nothing else," Mad-Eye added, leveling his wand at the girl. "The first hint I see that you're casting something else, I'll curse you into next Wednesday."

The girl sighed. With exaggerated care, she raised her wand and incanted, _"_ _ **Expecto Patronum!**_ _"_

A silvery ball exploded out of the wand, and after a long moment it took form: a doe.

"Bollocks!" The girl's head hit the table with a loud thump, though this was mostly lost in the din of people's reactions.

"I knew it!" Mad-Eye jabbed his wand into the girl's side. "Start talking, girlie! Who are you and how did you get in here? Where is Harry Potter, and how did you get his wand?"

"Alastor," Dumbledore said, putting a hand on the other wizard's shoulder as he watched the doe patronus disappear. "Let's not be too hasty."

"That wasn't Potter's patronus," Mad-Eye replied, but the Headmaster focused on the girl, who slowly raised her head back up.

"Maybe..." she started, "maybe some hot water would help?"

"How would water be relevant to a Patronus Charm?" This came from Hermione, who had been sitting closest to the girl and found it difficult not to ask questions.

"I was going to need hot water anyway to explain what happened to us," the girl replied, "but maybe it would help with this spell, too."

Dumbledore fixed his measuring gaze on her for several long seconds before finally saying, "Very well, one last chance. If this doesn't prove your identity, though, we'll have to move to other, less pleasant means of interrogation."

"Veritaserum?" Mad-Eye asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Severus has some and is awaiting word from me, should we need it."

The girl remained silent as Molly Weasley brought over a tea kettle of steaming water, which Dumbledore promptly levitated across the table.

Whatever they had been expecting, her pouring water over the dog sitting next to her and then over her own head was clearly not it.

The fact that the two intruders immediately shifted into Sirius Black and Harry Potter left everyone mute in astonishment. Into the silence, Harry once more incanted, _"_ _ **Expecto Patronum!**_ _"_ This time, a familiar stag burst forth from his wand. It cantered around the kitchen, brushing past the speechless witches and wizards before fading away.

The disappearance of the stag was a signal for renewed clamor as everyone tried to talk at once.

"Silence!" Dumbledore called out, halting the various conversations.

"Harry?" Hermione asked in a small voice, reaching out to him. Harry nodded, and the brunette witch threw herself against him, pulling him into a tight hug. This continued for several seconds until the Headmaster cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, I guess we can accept that Harry is, indeed, Harry." He quickly glanced to his side, where Mad-Eye nodded once before stuffing his wand into his jacket. "However, I think we'd all like to hear what happened to you to cause this most unusual transformation."

Hermione separated herself from Harry, allowing him to sit back down. Everyone looked at him expectantly.

Harry took a deep breath, then his hand shot out, pointing to his side where Sirius was leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

"It's all his fault!"

"It was an accident!"

"Sirius Black!" Molly cried. "What did you do?"

"I didn't know!" Sirius protested.

"And that's the point," Harry continued. "You didn't know. You didn't investigate. He tried to tell us, but you refused to listen!"

Sirius sagged a little against the wall. "I know, I didn't ask enough questions. But it didn't turn out so bad..."

"Not so bad?" Harry demanded, standing up. _"Not so bad?"_

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interjected. "Please, calm yourself."

Harry huffed and dropped heavily back into his chair. Hermione scooted closer while everyone — especially Dumbledore — waited apprehensively for him to continue.

"Fine," Harry finally said. "We were travelling through China, looking for magical communities where we could get training for me. We weren't having much luck, though. What few communities we found were very isolated and not at all welcoming to strangers."

Dumbledore nodded. "After the communists took over the muggle government, their purges of dissidents eliminated a great many witches and wizards." He looked up at Sirius. "I believe I mentioned this in a letter to your godfather after you two left on Buckbeak at the end of last year."

Harry groaned as he ran a hand down his face. "Why am I not surprised? Anyway, after a couple of weeks, Sirius came back from some bar with a story about a special training ground that was supposed to be helpful. It wouldn't teach me magic, but it would force me to learn how to jump, roll, and dodge. Sirius said that I needed to get into better shape."

"And I was right, wasn't I?"

Harry refused to look at his godfather. After all he'd been through, he was loathe to admit that the man-child had even a semblance of a point.

"So the next morning we walked to nearby Jusenkyo," Harry continued. "There was a guide who tried to explain the place to us, but Sirius insisted that we start immediately. There were dozens and dozens of small pools of water, each with a tall bamboo pole erected in the center. Before I knew what was happening, Sirius had banished me to the top of one, where I was barely able to hold on. Sirius apparated to the top of another and laughed at me." Next to him, Hermione practically growled. "I cast _Aguamenti_ at him, knocking him off. Unfortunately, between the pressure of the spell and my own loose handhold, I fell off as well."

"Were you hurt?" Hermione asked.

"No, I fell into the pool below, and it was pretty deep. When I came back to the surface, well..." Harry hesitated. "I was a girl."

"The magic was in the pool of water, then?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded. "The guide came over to me and, since Sirius wasn't around to interrupt, explained that I'd fallen into the 'Pool of Drowned Girl.' Anyone who falls into the pool is cursed to turn into a girl when doused with cold water. They can only return to their original form when doused with warm water."

"Remarkable," Dumbledore whispered, then turned to Sirius. "And you?"

Sirius scowled. "I instinctively shifted to my animagus form when I fell. As a dog, it's easier to land safely. Apparently being a dog interacted badly with the magic of Jusenkyo when I fell into the 'Pool of Drowned Panda'. I _should_ turn into a panda bear when doused with cold water, but instead I turn into a weird panda/dog hybrid."

"You look a lot like a Chow Chow," Hermione interjected. "That's a dog breed from China. They don't normally have the coloration of pandas, but they can be made up to look that way."

Sirius nodded. "That's what the guide told me. Also, I can't shift into my animagus form anymore. I can only become that weird dog, and only with water."

"I almost hesitate to ask," Dumbledore said, "but did anything else happen to you?"

Harry glared at his godfather, but Sirius studiously avoided meeting Harry's eyes.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry sighed. "Getting cursed like this wasn't enough for Sirius to learn his lesson. When we left Jusenkyo, Sirius decided to take us to an Amazon village which he'd also heard about in that bar. Said he 'wanted to make a man out of me,' in addition to seeing what sort of training they could offer."

"He didn't!" Hermione cried.

"Sirius Black!" Molly shouted. "How could you!"

"And... how did that go?" Dumbledore asked, sounding unsure if he really wanted an answer.

"Not like you'd think," Harry answered. "Sirius immediately began hitting on every woman he saw. They didn't take it very well, but somehow over the course of the argument I got blamed. Some blue-haired girl was named their champion and challenged me to a duel. I stunned and bound her fast, then we ran."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Ron commented.

"Except that they followed us," Harry continued. "And kept following us, too, no matter where we went."

"How far did they pursue you?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think we lost them somewhere in the Australian Outback."

Sirius nodded. "I'm sure we lost them."

Harry glared at his godfather, not feeling nearly so confident. Those Amazons had been far, far too good at tracking them. He suspected that they had magic of some sort and had used it to repeatedly find them, which meant he couldn't completely let his guard down, even now. And possibly not ever.

Dumbledore looked back and forth between the two before finally saying, "I hope this won't come as too much of an imposition, Mr. Potter, but would you let me study you as you transform?"

"Do you... do you think you can reverse it?" He hadn't dared to hope that the curse could be removed, but if anyone could do it then surely it was Dumbledore.

Dumbledore shrugged. "I am not familiar with this magic, so in all honesty, I cannot say. However, in principle all magic has a counter, so you should not give up all hope."

Harry nodded. "OK."

Dumbledore pulled out his wand, but before Harry could do anything there came a cry of _"_ _ **Aguamenti!**_ _"_ from behind him and he was hit in the back of the head with a spray of water from Sirius' wand.

"Sirius!" exclaimed several people around the kitchen. Dumbledore, though, was casting charms on Harry as he shifted into a buxom, redheaded witch. Harry never found the transformation painful, fortunately, even if Dudley's old castoffs were a bit tight in places for him to be entirely comfortable wearing them as a girl.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore whispered. "Truly fascinating."

"Did you find anything useful?" the redhead asked as water cascaded down from her hair to her shoulders and soaking the front of her shirt.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Potter—"

"Black, actually," Sirius interrupted, getting a growl in response from Harry.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore asked, confused.

"This obviously isn't a 'Mr.' anything," Sirius replied, gesturing towards Harry. "As such, I've adopted this young lady into my house as Miss Harriet Black."

"I hate that name!" Harry hissed. "Harriet? Couldn't you have come up with anything better?"

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "It's perfect. This way, someone calling you the wrong name can quickly correct themselves, and you won't have any problem if you mistakenly respond when someone uses the name of your alternate form."

Harry was about to protest when he saw that Dumbledore was nodding in approval. "That's a good idea, Sirius, especially since we're going to have to make accommodations for young Miss Black here in Hogwarts."

"Accommodations?" Harry asked in a strained voice, dismayed that the others were actually agreeing with his godfather.

"Of course, my boy... er, my girl," the Headmaster corrected himself, and Harry grimaced. "It's a virtual certainty that you'll end up transforming into Harriet at some point, and we'll need a good story to explain that."

"Exactly," Sirius agreed, smiling in a way that Harry had learned to fear. "Harriet Black here is my long-lost daughter, the product of a dalliance in my youth who was spirited away for her own protection during the last war. She has returned to Britain to learn more about her past and her amazing father. However, since she received advanced training while in hiding, she's only taking a few private lessons in Hogwarts."

Dumbledore nodded again. "That will explain why she isn't sorted into a house or taking regular classes with everyone else, but will still account for why she appears occasionally. Very clever, Sirius."

"Naturally!"

Harriet groaned and looked around the kitchen for any sort of support. Instead, she found one face after another looking at her in curious mixtures of fascination and horror. Everyone, that is, except her best mate. For some reason, Ron was staring with an expression that was akin to how he regarded platters of food at the Opening Feast at Hogwarts. Even stranger was the fact that his eyes were fixed somewhat lower than Harriet's face.

"Ron? Ron?" Harriet snapped her fingers several times to get his attention, unsuccessfully. "Hermione?" Harriet asked, looking to the side. "Do you know what's wrong with Ron?"

"Harry... uh, I mean, Harriet?" Hermione replied, also looking down at Harriet's chest. "Are you wearing a bra?"

"Of course not! I'm a bloke!"

Hermione frowned as she finally looked up to meet Harriet's eyes. "Not at the moment!"

Harriet shrugged, which seemed to make Ron's problem worse. "Well, I'm usually a bloke. I can't exactly wear girls' stuff all the time, just in case I transform."

"Well, get one from your trunk and put it on. You're... you're a bit distracting."

Harriet looked at Hermione in confusion. "My trunk? I don't have a bra. I told you, I'm a bloke."

"Harriet!"

"What?"

Hermione turned to face Sirius. "Didn't you take her shopping for proper clothing for when she transforms?"

Sirius shrugged. "What do I know about buying girls clothes? And bras, no less? Ask me how to take one off with two fingers in the dark and I'll tell you. But buying one? Not a clue."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to screech, but somehow she managed to hold it in. Instead, she grabbed Harriet's hand and started hauling her out of the kitchen. "Come on, you can wear one of mine."

Harriet eyed her dubiously. "You think it'll fit?" she asked without thinking.

Hermione's expression grew positively stormy. "I'll **make** it fit," she growled.

"Ginny, where are you going?" Molly asked as her daughter jumped up from the table.

"If you think I'm going to miss this..." Ginny replied over her shoulder as she ran to follow the other two.

Ron was still staring into space, a dazed expression on his face now.

Dumbledore, too, was staring off into the distance, ignoring the raucous chatter that had started amongst everyone else. "The power he knows not?" he mused softly as plans shifted and reformed in his mind.


	19. Potter's Heroes (HP-A-Team Xover)

**Potter's Heroes**

 **Summary:** Harry Potter has a problem and no one else can help. If Hermione can find them, and if he has enough gold in Gringotts to pay them, maybe he can hire... The A-Team.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/The A-Team

 **Pairing:** slight Harry/Hermione

 **A/N:** This is the crossover that you never knew you wanted to read, right? Right! I have lots of ideas for funny scenes for this fic; the tricky part will be to bring them together into something like an organized whole. It wouldn't do to simply have a montage of scenes... well, except for an _actual_ montage, because every A-Team episode has a "preparing for battle montage." This will probably revolve around the 80s TV show cast/backstory, not the movie cast/backstory, so you'll have to squint a bit to ignore their ages.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own The A-Team, Universal Television does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - All Quiet on the Hogwart's Front**

Harry winced as Hermione applied more murtlap to his right hand.

"It looks pretty bad tonight," she said with a worried frown, and Harry nodded. "The damage she's causing in your detentions is outstripping my ability to heal you. Are you sure you won't go to Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head. "A Hufflepuff tried that and got extra detentions for it."

"What?" Hermione hissed. "That's outrageous!"

"It's about what I'd expect," Harry said with a resigned shrug. "She'll attack anything that even seems to undermine her authority or challenge the Ministry."

Hermione sighed. "You're probably right. I just... I just wish there was something we could do."

"You and me both," Harry agreed. "But there's no one we can go to. Professor McGonagall simply told me to keep my head down — not that it would do me much good if I could. Sirius and Remus can't do anything for obvious reasons. And Professor Dumbledore is ignoring me. This is being done on orders from the highest people in the Ministry, so even if we told someone like Mr. Weasley, he doesn't have the power to help."

"In fact, he might get into trouble if he tried," Hermione added.

Harry nodded. "The _Prophet_ won't help — and because of them, most of wizarding Britain hates me."

"That's one of the things that bothers me most about this society," Hermione said as she gently wiped his hand clean. "Everything is so insular, so uniform. There are hardly any truly independent institutions that can challenge those in charge. No outsiders with the power to help."

"Outsiders?" Harry echoed, his brow furrowed in thought.

"What are you thinking of?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said slowly. "I remember something on the telly at my relatives' house, back before Hogwarts. Something... something about a group of people who could fix problems when the law couldn't help. Yank soldiers of some sort."

"Mercenaries?" Hermione asked, aghast.

"I dunno — I guess? They were apparently very good, according to what little I heard."

"Harry, that's ridiculous," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "Even if hiring mercenaries was justifiable, and even if you had the money, they must be muggles! Hiring them to help you with the Ministry or You-Know-Who would violate the Statute of Secrecy!"

"Maybe, maybe not," Harry said, leaning back on the couch as he gazed off into the distance. "I remember now that they were able to do things considered impossible, so maybe they have magic — or maybe only a couple of them are magical. And if not, well... maybe they could be obliviated afterwards?"

"Oh, Harry. That's got to be the most absurd—"

"And besides, you remember what Dumbledore told me about the prophecy last year? When I was in the hospital wing recovering from the fight in the graveyard?" Hermione nodded. Sirius was outraged to learn that his godson had been used in a ritual to help restore Voldemort's body — he had been seconds away from taking Harry out of the country. It was only Dumbledore promising to finally tell them both the truth which kept Harry in Britain. "Well, who's to say that muggle military tactics or tools isn't the 'power he knows not'?"

"I don't know, Harry..."

"Look, Hermione, I know it sounds mental," he interrupted, jumping up and starting to pace. "But I'm getting desperate here. Every year I have to face Voldemort, and now he not only has a body, but he's gathered his followers together — it's only going to get harder. Dumbledore hasn't done anything to prepare me for this. In fact, he's done the opposite, if you think about how awful the Defense classes have been."

"You've got a point," Hermione conceded reluctantly. "Even if Umbridge were teaching us properly, we'd have a lot of trouble passing our OWLs."

"And now I have two powerful groups after me: the Death Eaters and the Ministry," Harry continued. "I don't want to fight either of them — I'm just a student! — but neither of them are giving me much of a choice. If I can get rid of Voldemort, though, maybe the Ministry would get off my back."

"All that's true, Harry, but... I mean, muggle mercenaries? Really?"

Harry stopped and looked at her. "Voldemort has started attacking muggle Britain, don't forget."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly at the reminder. "That's true. Muggles have as much of a stake in stopping Voldemort as we do, even if they don't know it."

"So, will you help?" Harry sat back down next to her, a little closer than he had been before, and grabbed her hand. He didn't notice her blush when his green eyes stared into her brown ones.

"I... OK, but honestly, Harry, how am I supposed to find mercenaries?"

"Well..." he mused, "Dudley spends lots of time on the internet. Could that help?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "I suppose. My parents have internet service at home. I guess I could do some research, ask some questions when I go home for Christmas tomorrow..."

"Thanks, Hermione, you're the best!" Harry leaned over and pulled his best friend into a tight hug — the first time he'd ever initiated contact like that, as far as she could remember.

She sat frozen in surprise as Harry headed for the steps up to the boys' dorm, and only at the last second remembered to ask, "Harry, do you remember anything specific about these mercenaries?"

"Oh, right, good point," Harry replied, frowning in concentration. "I, uh... I can't think of anything in particular."

"Not even their names?" Hermione's good mood was quickly shifting to annoyance.

"Uh... oh! Yeah, I remember that," Harry exclaimed. "The A-Team!"

* * *

 **Grimmauld Place, One Week Later.**

" **Harry. James. Potter.** How could you!"

"What?!" Harry was quickly backing up into his room in fear as a furious brunette witch advanced on him.

"Yeah, you tell him, Hermione," Ron said. "Stupid git locked himself in here, refusing to come out."

"We keep telling him that it's not his fault that our dad was attacked, but..." Ginny trailed off.

"Wait, Mr. Weasley was attacked?" Hermione interrupted, her rant briefly forgotten.

"Yeah, in the Department of Mysteries," Ron replied. "You mean, you didn't know?"

"That's why we all left Hogwarts early and weren't on the train," Ginny said.

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, I'd wondered about that. I'm so sorry — is he alright?"

Ron shrugged. "Well, he's been better, but he'll be fine eventually — thanks to Harry."

"If you're not here about Harry brooding and moping, then why are you here?" Ginny asked.

"That's right!" Hermione exclaimed, turning once again on the black-haired wizard, who'd mistakenly relaxed when the topic of conversation had shifted. "I've got a bone to pick with you!"

"What did I do?" Harry asked, backing up again.

"You... you... ugh! You made me look like a fool in front of the entire internet!"

"Innie-who?" Ron asked.

"The internet, Ron," Hermione explained. "Muggles use it to communicate. It's like a floo network, but for talking instead of traveling."

"How did I do that?" Harry asked.

"Because of that question you wanted me to research, what else!" Hermione half-shouted. "The A-Team doesn't exist!"

"But I heard about them on the telly!"

"Who's the A-Team?" Ginny asked.

"And why were they on the fellytision?" Ron added.

"You heard about them because they were an adventure comedy!" Hermione said. "I started asking about them on a website, and people laughed at me for being so stupid as to think that I could hire fictional characters!"

"Wait, wait, what's going on?" Ron asked.

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Harry caught some of a show on the telly about muggle mercenaries in America. He asked me to look into hiring them to use against You-Know-Who."

"That's brilliant!" Ron's eyes lit up in excitement. "Did you get anywhere? Will they help?"

Alarmed at the look on Hermione's face, Ginny reached over and smacked him on the back of the head. "Ron, she just said they don't exist. They're a story, like those _Martin the Mad Muggle_ comics you read all the time!"

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion. "You mean, Martin doesn't really exist?"

Ginny smacked Ron again as Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward. Rounding on Harry once more, she went on, "Do you have _any idea_ how embarrassing that was to me?" She dropped her head into her hands. "I even used my real name when I created that account!"

"S-sorry?" Harry said quickly, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender until he backed into his bed, forcing him to sit down. "Look, I had no idea. I didn't actually _see_ anything. I just heard it from my... well, I heard it while they were watching."

"I know, it's just... I felt like such an idiot when people on that site responded, pointing out that it was a cheesy 80s TV show."

"So, it was only the one place where you asked for help?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded. "Well, how bad could it be? I mean, how many people are likely to have seen it?"

Hermione quirked one eyebrow at Harry's cavalier tempting of fate.

It was a few months later that an unfamiliar owl landed in front of Hermione during breakfast. She, Harry, and Ron were all wary of receiving post from unknown persons, so she cast several detection charms on the increasingly agitated owl before finally relieving it of its burden. The owl left in a flurry of feathers as she opened and scanned the letter, frowning as her eyes began at the top again.

"Is there a problem?" Harry asked. Ron continued to eat, though he looked concerned as well.

"It's... well, it's..." Hermione replied, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Finally, she simply handed the parchment over to Harry. "Here, you read it."

Harry's look of confusion only deepened as he studied the letter himself. "I don't understand," he said finally.

"I think it's about," Hermione said, looking around to see if anyone was listening, "you know, that issue I researched for you."

"Back during the Christmas hols, you mean?"

Hermione nodded. "This letter references several things I remember writing. Whoever wrote that had to have read what I posted."

Ron swallowed a large mouthful of food. "But how would any of those internutters find you here? They're muggles, aren't they?"

"Ron, they aren't..." Hermione paused, then shook her head. "Nevermind. I told you, I did use my real name. It's not impossible that they could have found me, especially if they know about the magical world."

"Or maybe someone magical saw it?" Harry suggested. "Someone who wants to help?"

"It could be a trap," Hermione pointed out.

By this point, Ron had taken the letter and was reading it. "I doubt it. How many Death Eaters pay attention to the muggle internut network?"

Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead, visibly struggling not to say something she might regret later. "I suppose you're right, but that doesn't mean we should blindly trust whoever this is."

"Agreed," Harry said. "But at the same time, we can't afford to ignore a potential opportunity to recruit some help." He pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. "Here, you should respond, since they contacted you."

"What should I say?"

"They want to meet, so suggest the next Hogsmeade day. We'll go as early as we can — that way we can avoid being seen with them."

Ron nodded. "Maybe we can get Fred and George to do something to delay the rest of the school from getting out of here on time. Even half an hour would help, but it wouldn't inconvenience others much."

"Alright," Hermione said, reluctant but unwilling to argue.

An exchange of letters by owl — and Hedwig always returned looking a bit confused, which worried Harry — produced an appointment to meet in a private room in the Three Broomsticks early on the next Hogsmeade weekend. Ron insisted on going too, since he didn't trust the mysterious offer of help any more than Hermione did. The twins were delighted with the challenge of delaying the rest of the student body and achieved their goal by ensuring that at least one wheel on each of the carriages was flat.

The fact that the carriages had wooden wheels without any air only made Umbridge all the more incensed.

"Do you see anyone?" Ron asked from the bottom of the ladder leading up to Honeydukes.

Harry pulled back his invisibility cloak and looked down from the open trap door. "No, no one's here. And I don't hear anything, either."

"Then let's get going before they open," Hermione insisted. "It's almost seven."

"I hope Madam Rosmerta serves us food," Ron muttered as he climbed up behind Harry. "I'm hungry."

He didn't see Hermione roll her eyes behind him as they exited the secret passage.

"It's weird seeing the village this early," Harry said once they were out on the street. "There's practically no one around."

Hermione nodded. "I've always wondered how much businesses in Hogsmeade rely on students spending money."

"You're here early," Rosmerta said when they entered the Three Broomsticks.

"We have an appointment," Harry replied. "We're supposed to meet someone in a private room?"

She nodded. "I was about to take back a tray of drinks and pastries."

"Brilliant!" Ron said, marching forward to follow as the woman led the way into the back. The smell of freshly-made pastries wafted in their wake, and even Harry and Hermione were forced to admit that they could stand to eat something. All three had left the castle before breakfast in order to make their early appointment.

"So, a pot of tea," Rosmerta said softly as she unloaded her tray, "some pastries, toast and jam. I think we're all set!"

"Thanks — this is brilliant!" Ron said as he grabbed a plate and dug in.

"Have the other... um, have the people we're meeting arrived?" Harry asked, looking around the room as he and Hermione served themselves.

Instead of answering immediately, Rosmerta closed and locked the door, then turned around to face the students.

"Madam Rosmerta...?" Hermione asked, her hand inching towards her wand.

The barmaid smiled as she dug into her neck with her fingers, then in one smooth, practiced motion, she pulled her face up over her head, revealing the visage of a much older man topped with silver hair. His weather-worn features had a relaxed, almost jovial look about them, but his keen eyes missed nothing as he sized them up.

"Colonel Hannibal Smith at your service," he announced as he pulled a cigar from somewhere in his robes and sat down. He paused a moment to light it and take a long pull before blowing smoke up in the air. "So, why do you want to hire the A-Team?"

"Bloody hell!" Ron hissed, his breakfast forgotten.

"You... you..." Hermione spluttered, but Colonel Smith merely raised one eyebrow. "You can't be you! I mean, you're just a fictional character! You're not real!"

"Ah, you mean that TV show?" Smith replied, frowning. "Yeah, we sold our story to some Hollywood hack a few years ago. Figured we could earn some money safely that way. Unfortunately, our lawyer didn't know what he was doing, and we got cheated on the deal." He took another pull from his cigar. "It wasn't a total loss, though. So long as people think we don't exist, it's easier to avoid getting noticed by the police."

Hermione simply gaped at him in shock. All three were speechless, in fact. They'd seen a lot of strange things in the wizarding world, but seeing an older man's face, smoking a cigar, perched atop Rosmerta's buxom figure easily ranked in the top five.

"So, you're real?" Harry finally asked. "I mean, you really do help people who are in trouble? People who can't turn to the law to help them?"

Smith nodded. "We're mercenaries, but we have our morals, too. We live by a code, the same code that inspired us to join the U.S. military in the first place. We don't work for evil people — murderers, rapists, and the like. Whenever possible, we prefer to work for good people who are seeking justice." He puffed his cigar thoughtfully, then added, "Of course, we also need to get paid. We do have bills of our own, you know."

"Brilliant," Harry said, smiling. "That's exactly what we need. You see, we have this little Dark Lord problem..."

Smith cut him off. "Voldemort? Yeah, we know about him. Wasn't sure if he was the one you wanted us to go after, or if you were more focused on what your government is doing to you."

"No, Voldemort is the biggest problem. I figure if he's taken care of, the Ministry won't be as much of an issue."

The colonel's smile was grim. "Don't count on it, kid. In my experience, once the government has its sights set on you, they tend to keep coming after you for a long, long time. And they rarely admit when they're wrong."

"Wait, wait," Hermione interrupted. "You know about Voldemort? You know about magic?"

"Sure," Smith replied. "One of my guys dated a couple of witches back in the States. He must have made a good impression on them, since they decided not to obliviate him when they broke up."

"Two different witches decided to let him keep his memories?" Ron asked.

Smith shrugged. "They were twins, and he was dating them at the same time. That probably helped."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, and Hermione elbowed him.

"Why didn't you disguise yourself with polyjuice, if you know about magic?" Ron asked, rubbing his side.

"Polyjuice doesn't work on muggles," Hermione answered.

"I wouldn't use it even if it did," Smith added. "I'm too old-school."

"Say, where's the real Rosmerta?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowed. "You didn't do anything to her, did you?"

"Of course not!" Smith protested. "What do you take me for? We simply needed her out of the way for a little bit, so Face is keeping her... occupied. Upstairs, somewhere, I think." All three slowly looked upward, wondering about silencing charms.

"So, uh, you know about Voldemort, then," Harry said after an awkward pause. "Are you willing to help me with him?"

"Perhaps," Smith said slowly. "Do you just want him gone, or do you want his merry band of minions dealt with, too?"

"Uh, I guess that getting as many of them as possible would be good," Harry admitted. "Too many were allowed to escape justice last time, and that prevented wizarding Britain from improving."

"Can't argue with you there," Smith agreed, "but that will take more time to arrange and will come with more risk, so the price will be higher."

"You're not bothered about fighting against magic?" Hermione asked. "I should think most muggles would be."

"We've done it before. Most wizards and witches don't have a good head for small unit tactics and have no idea how to handle muggle attacks, so it's possible for us to have a big advantage, providing we take them by surprise. Still, magic creates an added challenge, and that increases the cost as well."

"I have a bunch of gold in my trust vault," Harry said. "I don't know how much, but I'm sure I can get the goblins to tell me."

"Excellent!" Smith said, clapping his hands once as he stood. "I'll talk with my guys, and once we've worked out a figure, I'll contact you with a price as well as a Swiss bank account number. While we're doing that, I'd like you three to write down everything you know about Voldemort and his people. We already have some information, but that's only what's generally known to the public. The more we can get, the better we'll be able to plan. Every detail, no matter how small, might help."

"Sure, we can do that. I'll get my, um, godfather to help, too," Harry replied, standing as well. "He probably knows lots. Uh, assuming we can arrive at a price that works, when do you think you'll be able to start?"

"Hmmm... not for a few weeks, at least," Smith said, considering. "One of my associates... well, let's say he's not free at the moment; but even once he is, we have another job to take care of first. Will that be a problem?"

"No, not at all. To be honest, nothing usually happens to be until the end of the school year, so we have time."

"Yeah," Ron said, a thoughtful look on his face. "Come to think of it, things do usually happen to us at the end of every year, don't they?"

"That and Halloween," Hermione pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence," he said before turning back to Smith. "Anyway, so long as I know that help is coming, I'll be able to hold out here."

"Great!" Smith held out a hand, and each of the students shook it. "Watch for my owl." It only took him a moment to pull his Rosmerta mask back on, and then he was out the door and gone.

"We're going to get into so much trouble," Hermione whispered, shaking her head.

"I thought he was brilliant!" Ron said.

Harry shrugged again. "Hey, it can't get any worse than usual, right?

Both his friends stared hard at him.

As it turned out, the cost of hiring the A-Team was more than what Harry had in his trust vault. Hermione managed to negotiate the price down by promising magical help from not only the three of them, but also the DA and a few trusted adults, but it was still more than Harry could afford. An inquiry about a loan from Gringotts led to the revelation that there was a Potter family vault as well, a vault with quite a bit more gold in it. Once Harry explained in vague terms what he wanted to do, the goblins granted him limited access despite his being underaged, and the gold was transferred to a muggle bank in Switzerland that had ties to the gnomes.

Hermione didn't like the idea of Harry reaching so deeply into his family's resources like that, but he pointed out that it wouldn't be of any use to him if he got killed fighting Voldemort. As far as Harry was concerned, it could cost every knut he had in both vaults and still be a bargain, assuming the A-Team was successful.

And as Colonel Hannibal Smith told them, the A-Team had never failed a single job they'd taken. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had no idea what was coming.


	20. Do You Believe in Magic? (HP-Zatanna)

**Do You Believe in Magic?**

 **Summary:** On a trip to Vegas, Heather Potter wakes up with a wicked hangover and hazy memories of the night before. Turns out, she was about to be married to someone who planned on sacrificing her to a demon, but she was saved by Zatanna! Feeling that she owes a life debt to the magical hero, she sticks around, much to Zatanna's consternation.

 **Crossover:** Harry Potter/DC (Zatanna)

 **Pairing:** Heather Potter/Zatanna

 **A/N:** Another Blood Brandy Marriage Challenge response... but with a twist. This time, our protagonist is rescued from getting married, but she sticks around due to magical ties to her rescuer. Sparks fly between the two, and not always in a good way! There might be potential here, though I'm not sure. The problem is that I don't actually have a story — the only purpose being served here so far is to throw Zatanna and Heather together to see what happens. It's fluffy and funny, but that's about it.

In principle, it should be easy to combine this with an adventure of some sort. Intertwined with the adventure would be the development of their relationship, Heather coming to terms with the idea of settling down with one person and becoming a responsible adult, Zatanna coming to terms with the fact that she fancies girls, etc. Preferably, the plot of this adventure would somehow mirror the personal development of the characters — for example, Zatanna's brother Zachary getting into trouble due to his own irresponsible behavior.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Zatanna, DC does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Wild Side**

Heather only became aware that she was conscious due to the terrible pounding in her head. That, combined with the dry, cottony feeling in her mouth, made it abundantly clear that she was suffering from the mother of all hangovers.

 _Merlin, even the morning after our graduation party wasn't this bad!_

She tried to open her eyes, but the bright light made her groan and close them again. When that proved to not be enough, she put a hand over her face to shield them.

 _Neither was my welcoming party in France, come to think of it..._

"Sorry," came an unfamiliar voice, and even through her hand, she could tell that the lights had dimmed.

 _That doesn't sound like Fleur or any of her cousins_ , she thought muzzily as she cautiously squinted through a gap in her fingers, this time getting a look at the room she was in. _Nope, definitely not my room in France... oh, right. Hermione came and told me that it wasn't a 'world tour' if I spent all my time on French beaches with a bunch of veela. According to her, three months was more than enough and that I'd better get a move on._

Using both hands to keep her head from exploding, she slowly sat up on what she now recognized as a couch. _Of course, if I'd realized that Hermione would end up staying herself, I might not have taken her arguments quite as seriously. Guess my letters home describing how much fun I was having were a bit too good._

"Are you feeling any better?"

Heather turned towards the voice and had to blink hard several times before accepting that the sight in front of her wasn't an illusion. It was a woman — that much she'd already known — but she had trouble processing the idea of such a buxom torso clad in a cleavage-revealing tuxedo top combined with long, muscular legs sheathed in fishnet stockings.

A slow smile crept across her face. _I may not remember last night, or even know where I am, but the morning after sure is looking promising..._

"What do you remember last?" the woman asked, interrupting Heather's thoughts as she stared down at her with an expression of concern.

Heather frowned. _That's a good question._ "Uh... I'm not sure. I remember being in France quite clearly, but for some reason..." _How much did I have to drink, anyway? I never have_ _ **this**_ _much trouble remembering things._

The woman sighed and sat in an armchair across from her. "I was afraid of that. What's the last date you remember?"

Heather's brow furrowed in concentration. "I think, maybe... September? Yes, late September. I'm sure about that because I remember that the height of summer tourism had wound down."

"Well, today is November 1st, so it looks like you lost the entire month you've been here."

"What?! How? And where's 'here'?"

"Las Vegas."

Heather rubbed at her temples. _Vegas was one of the places I wanted to visit, so that sounds plausible..._

"Do you remember a chapel last night?"

She concentrated again, and this time she was able to dig up a vague, hazy memory. "As a matter of fact... yeah. Or maybe. There was a wedding of some sort. And I was... I was getting _married!"_ She shoved down her rising panic as she groped for more details. "There was also this woman there — she was pretty cute — and she was wearing... a tuxedo..." Heather trailed off and looked the woman up and down again. "Hey, does that mean you and I—?"

The woman jumped slightly in her seat. "What? No! Absolutely not!"

"Oh." Heather slumped back in her seat, oddly disappointed for some reason. _Not that I want to be tied down at this point in my life — there's far too much to explore and fun to be had. But if I had to wake up to a surprise marriage, I could have done a lot worse. Not many women can rock a tux like this one._ "Who are you, anyway?"

"Sorry about that — my name is Zatanna Zatara. Would you like some water?"

Heather nodded gingerly. "That would be great, thanks. My name is Heather, by the way. Heather Potter."

"Ereh Emoc Ssalg Dna Rehctip Retaw!" Zatanna said, holding out her hands to catch a pitcher and glass that flew towards her from a table on the other side of the room.

Heather frowned at the unfamiliar incantation. _Maybe it's how they learn here in America? It's not like there's anything especially magical about bad pseudo-Latin. I wonder if she has any hangover potions?_ Aloud, she said only, "Thanks," as she gratefully drank it down and handed it back for a refill. "So, um..." she went on awkwardly, "would you happen to know if I am in fact married, and if so, to whom?"

"Right, sorry — I should probably catch you up on recent events," Zatanna said while Heather sipped at her second glass. "You travelled to Vegas a month ago — I know this because I had to look into your background to understand what happened to you. When you arrived, you checked into the Paradise Resort, a casino and hotel owned by Sonny Raymond. His father, Benjamin Raymond, built the place back in 1947 when Vegas was first getting started. Or at least, that's what everyone thought."

Zatanna handed over a newspaper with a picture of a young, handsome man on the front. "As it turns out, Sonny was really Benjamin all along — he only told people that he was Benjamin's son so they wouldn't question why he hasn't aged a day in all these decades."

"Let me guess: it has something to do with that wedding I remember?"

Zatanna nodded. "Indirectly, yes. When Raymond started out here, he did so with the aid of a powerful backer. Not the mob, as was the case with so many casinos, but rather a demon named Mammon."

"Mammon? Doesn't that have something to do with greed?"

"Exactly. Raymond built his casino and several other buildings in Vegas to honor the demon, but that's not all. He wanted eternal youth and life, which Mammon was willing to grant, but at a price: the sacrifice of innocent souls. Raymond couldn't simply force people to become sacrifices, however. They had to give themselves willingly. To achieve this, he got them to drink a love potion. Once under the potion's influence, they eagerly agreed to a whirlwind wedding. It wasn't him they ended up marrying, though. Instead, the ceremony was perverted to have them give up their souls to Mammon. None of the victims likely realized this until their final vows were said and the demon collected their souls."

"Ugh!" Heather was barely able to avoid throwing up. "So, I've been under the influence of a love potion for a month? And I nearly gave my soul to a demon?"

"Not exactly," Zatanna replied. "Near as I can figure, you've been _resisting_ the effects of the potion for a month. It still screwed with your mind, thus your memory loss. Some of your memories might come back, actually, now that you're free of the potion, but you shouldn't count on it. It was only yesterday that Raymond was able to get full control over you, probably because of the cumulative effects of constantly dosing you for several weeks."

"That doesn't make me feel much better. How could I have been so stupid and gullible?" _Mad-Eye would have my hide for such carelessness!_

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Zatanna said, leaning forward in her chair. "From what I've been able to determine, most of his victims succumb within a day. The fact that you were able to resist a potion originally created by a demon is nothing short of miraculous." She paused to consider her next words, then apparently opted for honesty. "However, my sources do tell me that you were seen drinking and partying heavily almost every night in his casino. I doubt that helped your ability to resist."

"Wait," Heather said as the blood drained from her face. "Last night was October 31st, wasn't it?" Zatanna nodded. "Bloody hell," Heather groaned. "Bloody Halloween! I thought I was past that sort of thing." She buried her head in her hands.

After a long moment, Zatanna asked gently, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not especially," came the muffled reply. Then she exhaled heavily, raking her fingers down her face as she looked up again. "Let's just say I've not had an easy life. Once I finally... well, once I was done with some things that only I could do, a friend of mine suggested I take a break. Unwind." Zatanna nodded. "I decided to travel, see the world. I'd never been outside of Britain before, and it seemed like a good idea. And once I did, once I was out on my own..." She trailed off.

"Once you were free of the expectations of friends and family, free from the rules of school and work, you found yourself without any boundaries?" Zatanna suggested. "There wasn't anyone telling you 'no,' so you simply did whatever felt good at the time?"

Heather grimaced. "You make me sound like a total party animal — with emphasis on the 'animal'!"

"Not really," Zatanna insisted. "It's a common enough story, and we certainly see a lot of it here in Vegas. People step away from their daily lives and into a highly permissive environment where they're allowed to do all sorts of things they wouldn't even think about trying back home. It's good, actually, to have a chance to consider whether you'd be happier by being a different sort of person from what others expect of you. But it's also easy to take that to excess and lose yourself entirely. I think you were on that path, and in a more literal way than is usually the case."

"I suppose so," Heather said, feeling only slightly better. _Maybe I need to step back and consider some changes. I don't want my tombstone to say, "Vanquished Voldemort, Killed by the Afterparty."_

Time enough for that later, though. With deceptive casualness, she said, "By the way, where's Raymond now? I'd like to have a few words with him."

"I wouldn't recommend seeking him out," Zatanna replied, her smile predatory. "It took him so long to deal with you that the deadline for his next payment to Mammon had just about run out. Once I spoiled his wedding plans, he had no more time to find an alternative sacrifice — not that I would have let him. Mammon tried to collect his soul." Heather raised one eyebrow, and Zatanna sighed. "No, I couldn't let that happen, not even to him. So I transformed him into a statue of gold. His soul is trapped, but he's not actually being tortured. Mammon now has a golden statue which he enjoys looking at, and so won't be coming after anyone else here."

"I guess that will have to do," Heather said, relaxing slightly. "So, uh... how close was I to losing my soul?"

"Too close. If I'd been a minute or two later, it would have been too late. And I barely made it out of that chapel alive myself. It was filled with the soulless husks of his past victims, animated by the power Mammon had been feeding him over the decades."

Heather sighed heavily as she set the empty glass on the table between them. "So you're telling me that you risked your life to save mine?"

"I suppose... but it's not a big deal. I've done things like that before."

"Not to someone like me, I'll bet," Heather said as she massaged her temples.

"What do you mean? What's different about you?"

"The fact that you saved my life at great risk to your own means that I owe you a life debt." She paused to consider the implications of her rescue. "And you may have risked your soul to save mine, which complicates matters greatly. Can there even be a soul debt?"

"I don't understand — what's a life debt, and what does it have to do with you being different?"

"Because we're both magical," Heather replied. She twitched her right hand, causing her wand to shoot out from its disillusioned holster. Zatanna's eyes bulged as Heather incanted, _"_ _ **Aguamenti!**_ _"_ and a stream of water burst from her wand, filling the glass in front of her.

"Well, that's... different," Zatanna said, obviously curious. "I've never seen magic like that. But what does it have to do with this life debt?"

"A life debt is a magical obligation," Heather explained as she picked up the glass to drink. "It can only exist between two magical people. My magic knows that you saved me, and it will push me to even the scales between us."

"How?"

"Ignoring for now how the possibility of a soul debt might complicate things, the usual way is by tying my life to yours through marriage or by saving your life in return."

"What?" Zatanna exclaimed, jumping out of her chair. "That's ridiculous! I don't want to be owed such a debt! It... it... it would be like enslaving you, and I'd never do such a thing!"

"Oh, really?" Heather said dubiously.

"What?"

Her eyes moved to Zatanna's tall, black boots, and slowly moved up her legs to her tuxedo top. Zatanna shifted uncomfortably before Heather finally said, "With an outfit like that, I figured you were used to people prostrating themselves at your feet, begging to follow your orders."

Zatanna's face went scarlet. "That... that's outrageous! I do no such thing! This is a _costume!_ It's part of my stage act! I'm a magician and perform shows here in Vegas!"

"So, you never wear this except as part of your stage act?"

"Exactly!"

"Like right now?"

Zatanna sputtered, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking defensive. "Well... mostly," she finally managed.

"Uh-huh." _I ain't buying it. People don't wear outfits like that for comfort, especially if they live and work in the desert._

"Look, none of that matters. You don't owe me a debt. If you ever did, I hereby declare it fulfilled."

Heather shook her head as she put the glass back down again. "I'm afraid it doesn't work like that. I can feel myself being pulled towards you as it is. I'm sure it's my magic demanding that the debt be repaid, and it must be a large debt for me to be conscious of it so soon." Silently, she added, _That, or I never knew how sexy fishnet stockings and a tuxedo top could be..._

Zatanna flopped back down into her chair. "So, I'm responsible for the life I saved?"

"Something like that."

"And if I push you away, I guess it will end up causing you harm?"

Heather nodded.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to marry you," Zatanna declared, and Heather once again found herself suppressing an odd twinge of disappointment. "However, as I implied before, I do regularly find myself dealing with dangerous situations. I'm sure that if you stick around long enough, you'll find an opportunity to save my life, thus erasing the debt."

"So, I need an excuse to be close to you on a pretty constant basis?" Heather asked, her spirits rising once again... until she saw the smirk on Zatanna's face. _I'm going to regret this, aren't I?_

* * *

"Are you ready yet? Curtain goes up in ten minutes!" Zatanna tapped her foot as she looked at her watch.

"I can't come out — I'm naked!" Heather exclaimed.

"Then put on the costume I gave you! Stop wasting time!"

"I did put it on! And I'm still naked!"

By now most of the backstage crew were lingering nearby, curious how this conversation was going to turn out.

"Kcolnu rood!" Zatanna said, and Heather's tiny dressing room door clicked open.

"Look at me!" Heather cried now that she no longer had the privacy of her room. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this!"

Zatanna looked her up and down in what almost passed for a professional manner, but Heather caught the slight tinge of pink in the magician's cheeks. "You look fine," Zatanna said, her voice a bit huskier than normal.

Heather put her hands on her hips and stared hard at her new employer. "Fine for a beach in France, maybe."

"You sound like you know that from experience," Zatanna said with a slightly nervous laugh.

Heather shrugged in a deliberately exaggerated manner, noting how Zatanna's eyes seemed fixated by the sight. "I suppose I do at that. I spent most of my time this past summer on a private beach owned by a French veela colony."

"Veela?"

"They're a magical subspecies of humans comprised entirely of supernaturally beautiful blonde women, and they practically live on nude beaches. No men allowed. It was... educational." _For all of us, too. The veela had never encountered a female parselmouth before, and if Hermione hadn't forced me to move along, they might have made me an honorary member of their colony._

Zatanna blinked a few times before getting a glazed look as she stared off into space.

"Anyway," Heather said, raising her voice enough to break her employer out of her trance, "I think you only gave me something so skimpy to wear because you wanted to ogle me."

"What? That's absurd!" Zatanna insisted. Then she narrowed her eyes. "How can you be so bothered by this if you're accustomed to nude beaches?"

Heather shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "That was different," she said lamely.

Zatanna arched one eyebrow.

"Well, for one thing, that was all women," she tried again, "all of whom I got to know and who were naked as well. And even then it took me awhile to get used to it. Here, I'll be on display in front of a bunch of strangers. On top of that, well, after my experiences with Raymond..."

Zatanna's expression softened. "I guess I can understand. But _you_ have to understand that your outfit is normal for women in Vegas stage acts. It's the same outfit all my past female assistants have worn — that's why I already had it."

"Oh, really?" Heather asked, cocking her hip. "So it's not just me? You typically dress your female employees in skimpy outfits so you can ogle them? No wonder you have a casting couch in your office. And here I thought I was special."

Zatanna blushed hard and sputtered incoherently in response.

 _That'll teach you to dress me up like this before putting me on a stage in front of strangers._ Heather exited her dressing room, making a point of brushing Zatanna as she passed while obviously swaying her hips. "Well, that's alright. I can hardly complain, since I've been ogling you since I woke up on your casting couch. Turnabout is fair play."

Zatanna remained silent after that and refused to look her in the eye, even during the parts of her act where Heather played a role. However, she did catch Zatanna glancing in her direction whenever she thought Heather wasn't looking.

 _Maybe I won't regret this after all._


	21. Another Bite of the Apple

**Another Bite of the Apple**

 **Summary:** Harry's death in first year left Dumbledore with little power or influence. Now beyond desperate for a way to stop Voldemort, he initiates a ritual to pull a compatible hero from another universe. What he gets is Lilith Potter: a dark witch who doesn't trust authority figures, has all of Voldemort's memories, and is still mourning the death of her lover.

 **Pairing:** Lilith/Hermione

 **A/N:** This story is inspired first by the many female Harry stories by Nemesis13, and second by the many "summon poor Harry from another universe so we can force him to do it all again" stories. This, though, would be a bit darker than most of them. Lilith has had a miserable life: she was abused worse by the Dursleys, which led to her absorbing the memories and some of the attitude of the soul piece in her scar, and both of those led to her being sorted into Slytherin in her Hogwarts. And that's just the start of her problems. No one is truly prepared for someone like her, but she's also hardly prepared to deal with the presence of so many people who had died in her own universe.

There's no way this is going to go well for anyone, is there?

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

 **Publishing Note:** I will once again be taking a three-week break from publishing while Bonnie and I prepare and edit the next story, _A Witch and an Amazon Walk into a Bar_. The first chapter will appear on May 27, a week before the Wonder Woman movie! A draft version of the first chapter appeared here in the Fluffle as chapter 3.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.

* * *

 **Chapter 01 - Land of Confusion**

 _I'm on fire._

At least, Lilith Potter felt like she was on fire. It was only to be expected, since the last thing she remembered was being surrounded by her own fiendfyre as she destroyed the Ministry of Magic. She also remembered cackling insanely as she waited for death to take her along with all the corrupt, evil people who worked there.

 _But I'm not dead, am I? I don't_ _ **feel**_ _dead. Come to think of it, I'm not in nearly enough pain to be on fire, much less consumed by my own fiendfyre. I'm hot, and I'm definitely in pain, but it's probably not fire after all._

She opened her eyes and blinked several times. The first thing she noticed was that the world was swimming around her, and she instinctively reached for her glasses. Then she remembered that she had finally gotten her eyes fixed a few months ago, so she shook her head to clear it, which seemed to help. The next thing she discovered was that she was naked — no clothes, no wand, nothing. She was lying on a stone floor, and there was something disturbingly familiar about the room...

"Fascinating," came a weak voice, drawing Lilith's attention. To her right, sitting on the floor a few feet away, was just about the last person she ever expected to see. Or wanted to see.

"You long-bearded, manipulative old goat-fucker!" Lilith hissed, wincing in pain as Fawkes let loose with what she supposed was intended to be an inspiring song. Dumbledore's pleased expression shifted to shock and dismay. She pushed herself to her knees, heedless of her nudity, and lunged for him. "What are you doing here? There's no way you could have escaped that cave alive!"

Dumbledore feebly tried to defend himself, but Lilith grabbed his wand from his hand while simultaneously punching him in the face with all her might. It wasn't much of a punch, but the sharp crack of his nose breaking was satisfying as she pulled back, his wand still firmly in her grip. She watched as Dumbledore toppled over, his sightless eyes wide with shock.

"I didn't hit him _that_ hard, did I?" she mumbled before toppling over herself, exhausted from her efforts.

She was unconscious when the floo in Dumbledore's office activated a few seconds later.

"Albus? This had better be good. You remember what I told you I'd do if you ever wasted our time again."

"Relax, Sirius. Hermione will be fine on her own."

"It's the principle of the thing, Remus! After everything he's done, he still has the nerve to... Sweet Merlin!"

Both men ran across the room to where two ritual circles had been drawn, one around each of the two figures lying prone on the floor.

"What the hell are you doing with a naked girl in your office, Albus?" Sirius demanded as he checked the girl over. "With the way things are going right now, they'll throw you in Azkaban for this!"

"Unlikely," Remus replied softly. "He's dead."

"What?"

"He's dead, Sirius," Remus repeated as he closed Dumbledore's eyes. "How's the girl?"

"I'm no healer, but I can't find anything obviously wrong with her. What the hell did we stumble into?"

"I don't even know where to begin to—" Remus started, but he was interrupted by a mournful cry from Fawkes. One the phoenix had their attention, he flew from his perch over to the top of an open cabinet. Inside was Dumbledore's pensieve along with a large rack containing numerous vials of memories. Remus walked over to the cabinet. "Is this something he wanted us to see, Fawkes?"

The bird crooned in affirmation, so Remus took a closer look. Inside was a piece of parchment, which he took out and read aloud. "Remus and Sirius, I hope you don't object to my addressing you in such a familiar manner one last time, for it will be the last time. If my calculations are correct, then by the time you arrive to read this, I will be dead."

Sirius snorted. "First time he's been right about anything in ages."

Remus gave his friend a disapproving look before continuing. "I would tell you not to mourn my passing, but I know that too much has happened between us for that to even be possible anymore. Indeed, it is precisely because of that situation that I am taking such drastic steps. Given how things are, I fear that we are lost — all of us, wizards, witches, and muggles alike. Harry was our only hope for defeating Voldemort and driving back the darkness, and it is my fault that we lost him at such a young age." Remus ignored the growl of anger coming from Sirius. "For the last several years I have searched high and low for another answer, but alas, all of my efforts have come to naught. Without Harry, there is nothing and no one in this world that can vanquish Voldemort."

"So, what — we're buggered, then?" Sirius asked.

"By some quirk of luck or fate, however, I stumbled across a book which offered an alternative. While there is nothing in this world that can help us, it is possible to reach out to another world for aid. And that's what I have done: I performed a ritual that allowed me to reach out for someone who matched certain conditions. If I am successful, then you will find another person here in my office, the one person left who stands any chance of saving us. I cannot say in advance who they are or what they are like, though I expect them to be of a noble and virtuous character. I can only say that they embody certain heroic qualities established in the ritual: they are capable of vanquishing Voldemort, they are capable of overcoming death, they are ready and willing to start over somewhere new, and they are prepared to sacrifice themselves for a higher cause."

"Her?" Sirius asked, turning around to look down at the young girl. "She's probably not much older than Hermione!"

"Which means she's not much older than Harry would have been right now," Remus pointed out.

"But still..."

Remus shook his head and returned to the letter. "Nothing in life is free, of course, which is why I had to sacrifice my own life as part of the ritual. A life for a life: I must exit this world in order for someone new to enter. This is why I chose to do the ritual on the winter solstice. It is a price I gladly pay in the hope that, with this act, I can make up for some of the harm I've caused everyone. Whoever it is that has been brought to us, you must help and protect them. They will need resources and information. My personal library is already packed; it, the pensieve, and my collection of memories are all yours according to my will. The floo is set to erase any record of your passing, and the portraits are spelled to forget everything that's happened this evening. Take care in who you trust with the truth about this person. Yours, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"P.S. By now the wards have certainly alerted Minerva of my death, and she should already be on her way to my office to assume control of the castle before Madam Umbridge can get here. You have mere minutes to clean up, collect my things, and get out!"

"Bloody hell!" Sirius exclaimed as he whipped out his wand and began vanishing all the evidence of the ritual. "It's just like him to create a mess for us to clean up!"

"I'm more worried about the girl," Remus replied as he packed the pensieve and memories into the open trunk that had been left next to the cabinet. "She may have been willing to start over somewhere new, but there's no way she consented to being pulled into a new world where she'd have to fight in our war. He basically kidnapped her, you know."

"Fucking wanker," was all Sirius said before wrapping the girl up in his cloak and lifting her into his arms. "We'll have to tell Hermione, but no one else. At least, not anytime soon."

"Agreed." Taking a last look around the office, Remus saw that they had everything and turned back to Fawkes. "I'm sorry for your loss, though I can't honestly say I'm sorry he's gone." Fawkes crooned sadly. "As before, you'll always be welcome in Grimmauld Place if you want to visit." Fawkes looked over at the unconscious girl in Sirius' arms and trilled before shaking his head and flaming away.

"What do you think that was about?" Remus asked.

"Dunno, don't care," Sirius answered as he headed for the floo. "We need to leave."

* * *

 _I'm comfy._

Lilith Potter felt as comfortable as she'd ever been, which was quite the improvement over the last time she awoke.

At that realization, she froze, willing herself not to give any indication that she was conscious. Her ears strained to pick up the slightest sound, but she could hear nothing, not even someone breathing. Wherever she was, she seemed to be alone.

Slowly, she opened her eyes just enough to peek through her lashes. The room was dark, but soon she was able to start picking out the usual features of a bedroom: a wardrobe, a bedside table, and perhaps a vanity. She blinked a few times, then carefully moved her head so she could see more.

 _I'm alone, or at least alone in this room._

Sitting up, she found that she was clothed this time, though she wasn't entirely sure if that was an improvement. Having clothes was good, but it meant that someone had taken the time to dress her in a nightgown, and she didn't like the idea of some stranger having done that. She reached out to the bedside table, but there was no wand — neither her own nor the one she thought she might have taken from Dumbledore.

 _Someone, probably on Dumbledore's orders, saved me from the Ministry as I burned it to ash around me. But why? And why was I in his office... naked?_ Lilith shivered at the thought. _He expected me to die in order to eliminate Voldemort, so why save me... especially after I left him to die in that cave?_

She got out of the bed and moved quickly but silently, searching through drawers and the wardrobe. The room was bereft of any other clothing, which annoyed her, but worse was the absence of anything that she could use to defend herself. She wasn't completely helpless, but she'd be at a serious disadvantage against anyone who meant her harm.

As slowly and quietly as possible, Lilith turned the doorknob and opened the door. The hallway outside was brightly lit and surprisingly familiar: the green wallpaper and snake motifs were unmistakable features of Grimmauld Place.

 _What am I doing here? How did they even get me here? I'm the only one alive who's supposed to have access! Maybe it was Dumbledore — he's probably powerful enough to break in if he wanted to. I don't know how he got out of the cave of inferi, but he won't survive our next meeting..._

With growing fury, she stepped out into the hallway and made for the nearest bathroom. Having learned the value of paranoia at an early age, she'd hidden weapons throughout Grimmauld Place once she'd taken control of the house. In particular, she'd stashed weapons such as knives in places she was sure she'd be allowed to visit, should the worst happen, but where no one would expect her to be able to arm herself. Like the bathrooms.

"Bloody buggering shite!" she hissed as she first felt up around underneath the sink, then behind the toilet. "They're gone! Who's doing this, and how'd they even know to look?"

She left the bathroom and crept down the stairs, wishing more than once that either Kreacher had survived the destruction of the locket, or that she'd found another elf to replace him. A loyal elf would have been able to tell her what was going on, bring her clothing and wand, and anything else she needed right now. Unfortunately, Hermione had been adamant about not buying a slave, and Lilith had never been able to deny the bushy-haired witch anything.

Her musings over the value of a house elf were cut short by another surprise at the base of the steps: Walburga Black's portrait had been covered over, like something shameful that had to be hidden away. Granted, the old witch's personality hadn't been all that pleasant, and it had taken a lot of work to get her to accept Hermione, but she had become an invaluable source of information and ideas over the past couple of years. She just needed to be treated with a bit of respect and to know that she was still useful.

Lilith reached out to pull the curtains back, but stopped at the last second. Without her wand, she couldn't check for warning spells. Worse, Walburga was probably furious, and Lilith wouldn't be able to calm her down before she started shouting, alerting the entire house about her displeasure. And the fact that someone had opened her curtains.

"We need a plan!"

Lilith's head whipped to the side as voices coming from the kitchen became loud enough to hear, though not always distinctly.

"...if she's going to attend classes next term."

She grabbed an umbrella from the troll-foot umbrella stand before slowly creeping up on the kitchen door. It wasn't much of a weapon, but the pointy metal tip was better than nothing.

"...until we talk to her..."

She paused and frowned. There was something familiar about his voice, but it was too muffled to say for sure who it might be.

"...will need a new identity..."

A second man, but she didn't recognize him. She stopped at the door and pressed her ear against the cool wood, straining to hear.

"Honestly, you two, there's no point in making plans until we find out what _she_ wants!"

Lilith froze. _That's not possible... she's dead! I held her body in my arms!_

"Then what do you suggest we do? Nothing?"

"Of course not. When she wakes, she's going to have questions. We need to have answers. We need to look through all this and figure out what exactly happened. And we'll need to be prepared for the fact that she won't be happy with our answers."

"Merely unhappy? She'll be..."

The words trailed off as Lilith pushed open the door. She didn't pay any attention to the two men sitting on the far side of the table; she only had eyes for the young witch sitting a few feet away.

"Oh, you're awake!"

"Hermione?" Lilith croaked as the umbrella slid from her fingers. _She's alive! I was wrong, she's alive!_

Hermione frowned as she stood from her chair. "How did you—?"

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence because Lilith rushed forward, grabbed her by her collar, and pulled her into a searing, breathtaking kiss. Initially, Hermione put her hands on Lilith's shoulders in an attempt to push her away, but as Lilith's hands moved from her collar and up into her bushy hair, Hermione's protests started to weaken. When Lilith's kiss moved from her mouth to her jawline and then focused on an unexpectedly sensitive spot under her ear, Hermione practically went limp as she moaned involuntarily.

"Ahem — excuse me? I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Hermione jumped backwards, her face a bright crimson and her eyes wide in disbelief. Lilith's eyes were now finally drawn to the two men.

"Re-Remus?" she asked as the blood drained from her face. "Sirius?"

"Yes, but how did you know that?" Sirius asked.

"And how did you know my name?" Hermione demanded. "Who are you and... and why did you _kiss_ me?"

"Hermione?" Lilith replied one hand reaching out. "I don't understand what's going on. Am I dead? Did I die in the Ministry after all?"

 _Maybe this is where the newly deceased are welcomed into the afterlife?_

"Why would you think you're dead?" Hermione asked.

"I saw you! Sirius, I saw them suck out your soul! Remus, I read the Ministry report of your execution! And Hermione, I... I held your body..."

"Dead?" Sirius asked. "I feel fine."

"Padfoot, I don't think she's talking about us, exactly," Remus chided softly.

Hermione's indignant expression quickly shifted to confusion and then sympathy. "Oh! Oh, my. I... I'm so sorry. We never expected this."

"But maybe we should have," Remus added.

Lilith looked from one to the other, confusion and anger warring on her face. "What? I don't understand."

"You're not dead," Hermione said, reaching out and pulling Lilith to a chair. "And neither are we. You, uh... we..."

"There's no easy way to say this, so I'll be blunt," Sirius said. "You're not in your world anymore. This is a different world, one where things happened quite a bit differently, it seems."

"How is that even possible?"

"Theoretically, there's an infinite number of possible worlds or universes," Hermione explained. "A different one for every different decision that everyone has ever made."

"But how did I get here? This can't be normal."

"Albus Dumbledore performed a ritual that pulled you into our world," Remus said. "We didn't learn about this until after it was all done.

"Dumbledore!" Lilith's expression was now all anger. "That manipulative, scheming, goat-buggering—"

Sirius held up one hand. "You won't get any arguments here. All of us have had problems with him over the years, though it sounds like yours were especially bad."

"You know us, but I'm afraid we don't know you," Remus said. "You don't look like anyone we know in this universe."

"Which is probably good," Hermione interjected. "Who knows what would happen if there were already one of her here? In fact, maybe she could only come precisely because she doesn't already exist here."

Remus nodded. "That's possible. So who are you?"

Lilith frowned. "I've been called a lot of things. The Girl Who Lived, the Chosen One, a Dark Witch." Sirius, Remus, and Hermione all paled slightly as she rattled off the various titles she'd been saddled with over the years. "But my name is Lilith Andromeda Potter-Black, only child of James and Lily Potter, and in my universe I was the goddaughter and heiress of Sirius Black."

The others were speechless.

"I take it that there's something interesting about me beyond the fact that I don't already exist here?"

Sirius ran a hand down his face. "Yeah, you could say that. You... well, in this world, James and Lily had a son, Harry. Not a daughter."

"And where is he?"

"He actually _is_ dead," Remus replied.

"He died in our first year," Hermione added in a small voice. "He died while trying to save me from a troll that had broken into the school."

Lilith arched one eyebrow. "Let me guess: he didn't have a knife to stab it with."

"Troll skin is too tough for knives to be very effective," Remus said with a frown. "Even enchanted knives and swords are of little use."

"That's why you aim for the eyes," Lilith replied. "It's what I did. Works wonderfully."

"That's how you saved your Hermione?" the slightly-green witch asked.

Lilith nodded. "That was the start of our friendship. I made sure she got her own knife, though."

"You seem to have a thing for knives," Sirius observed.

"I never go anywhere without at least one," Lilith said, running her hands down her sides. "Well, except for now."

"Sorry," Sirius replied, looking a little sheepish. "Apparently nothing that wasn't you could come along for the ride. You appeared in Dumbledore's office completely naked."

Lilith's expression turned angry again. "And why did your Dumbledore haul me all the way from my universe to this one?"

"We're not sure yet of his exact reasoning," Remus said. "We have yet to go through all of the notes and memories he left for us. From what we can tell, though, he believed that our Harry was the only one who could defeat Voldemort."

Lilith sagged in obvious resignation.

"You know about Voldemort, I take it?" Sirius asked.

"More than I'd like to."

"That fits," Remus continued. "Dumbledore blamed himself for Harry's death, and so also blamed himself for the fact that Voldemort might be unstoppable now that he's regained a body. So he took it on himself to summon a hero from another universe." He pulled out a piece of parchment and looked at it before continuing. "Someone who was able to vanquish Voldemort, who could overcome death, who was ready to start over somewhere new, and who was willing to sacrifice themselves for a higher cause."

"So, it wasn't enough that I did _my_ Dumbledore's job by killing _my_ Voldemort. Oh, no, an entirely different Dumbledore decided that I needed to do _his_ job too and kill yet another Voldemort!" Lilith had pushed her chair back and was nearly shouting. "Is there a queue forming up somewhere? Are there scads of Dumbledores taking numbers and waiting for their turn to use and abuse me?"

"Lilith, no," Sirius interrupted, taking her hand. "I don't know why Dumbledore was so fixated on Harry or thought he was the only one to stop Voldemort, much less why he thought the job should go to you, but I... we won't force you to do anything."

"You don't owe us or this wizarding Britain anything," Remus added. "If you'd rather leave Britain entirely and settle somewhere else—"

"The Blacks have an island," Sirius inserted with a grin.

"—or even if you merely want to relax on a beach, we'll support you."

Lilith sighed and stared at the table right in front of her. She had no idea what to do. She certainly didn't want to have to fight Voldemort yet again, especially given how it had gone the last time. _Settling down somewhere else — anywhere else, really — sounds like a good idea. A beach sounds even better. It isn't like I asked to come here and fight in their war, after all... not that I ever asked to fight in my war, either._

She felt Hermione place a hand on her arm. "And you don't have to decide right this minute," she said. "You've got lots of time to think about it."

Lilith looked up and gazed into the eyes of the bushy-haired witch next to her. This wasn't _her_ Hermione — that was obvious now . There were too many little details that were different. However, it was _a_ Hermione.

It was _Hermione_.

Lilith was pretty sure that no matter what universe she found herself in, Hermione would be a target for blood purists like Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Because she was smart. Because she refused to meekly walk away when challenged. Because she would fight.

 _That means I'll have to fight, too. Maybe at some point I'll be able to convince her to leave, perhaps even with me, but until then, I can't abandon her. My Hermione would never forgive me._

"I'll stay," Lilith said, holding Hermione's gaze until the bushy-haired witch turned away, looking a little uncomfortable. Lilith then faced Sirius and Remus. "So, plans. How am I supposed to get established here, and what exactly has been going on?"

It was going to be a long, long Christmas holiday.


End file.
